


Rebound - or - What to Do When Mistaken for a Whore

by Hekwos



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Drinking Leads to Really Poor Judgment, M/M, Prostitution, Romance, Smut, more smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-06-29 22:57:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 40,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19840264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hekwos/pseuds/Hekwos
Summary: A bad breakup, a few too many drinks, plus a case of mistaken identity leads to a one-night stand that neither Ichigo or Toshiro can forget. One of them is determined to move on. One of them . . . not so much.Rather smutty, if I do say so myself, but there is tiny little story to hold it up. IchiHitsu, past Hitsugaya/Kusaka, past Ichigo/Orihime, mentions of Rangiku/Gin, Rukia/Renji, Isshin/Kisuke, and a Grimm cameo or two.AU human, modern, very graphic M/M sex. Implied domestic violence.





	1. What to Do When Mistaken for a Whore

Another buzz, my fingers numb to the vibration, the dark upholstery, dingy carpet, dim and stale air dressed up for a moment with bright blue. I turned the phone, watching the light slide across the curves of my glass, ice glowing in the amber liquid as cubes drifted and sent pretty little swirls of illusory texture throughout. I should answer, I thought as the world went dark again, the only person who cared enough to worry about me being shut out.

Another swig, my throat numb to the burn, unfamiliar comfort that was no comfort at all. I knew it was useless. I was as unaccustomed to this emotional turmoil as I was to alcohol, and neither one would solve the problems brought by the other. Brushing the backs of my fingers over the smooth glass brought a flash of pain, a flash of relief as cold numbed the sore knuckles just a little. Worth the discomfort. It was the only thing left to look forward to; I could get a good look at the bruise that would spread across that bastard's cheek in a couple days. I grimaced as another mouthful of merciful poison rushed to wreck my body and mind, hopefully. Just once, I gave everything to another person. Just once, and six long-ass months later I was in a dirty hotel bar, alone.

Another drink, my pride numb to the judgmental stare, the old man shuffling about with all the warmth and class of the cheap bar he tended, as disapproving of my silent determination to drown myself in bourbon at barely six o'clock as he was of my strange eyes, my white hair, my expensive suit. I should check in and go to bed. Tomorrow would be busy. Apartment hunting. Contacting a mover. Preparing for the final confrontation to completely sever ties to someone who had once meant more to me than the sun, moon, and all the stars. Or sleep all day and tackle life later. I looked over my shoulder toward the lobby. There was a line, anyway; I'd finish my drink more slowly, have another just to further offend the bartender, then check in and go stare at the ceiling for a few hours.

Another look, my eyes numb to the contrast of the dreary bar and the overly bright lobby, a waste of the warm stone and earth tones that should be kept in softer light to be welcoming. Like the garish way it lit up the spiked red hair of the man checking in, made it look hazard orange, distracting to tired eyes that kept staring as the figure turned. Apologizing as he moved, bumping into the portly man crowding up to get to the counter faster, the stranger gave a tight smile, then rolled his eyes as he pulled his suitcase out of the way of the rude masses.

Another blink, my thoughts numb to anything but the handsome stranger, expressive face, young, vibrant. Once the moment of annoyance passed, an excitement widened the false smile into something genuine and charming. Already, small lines around that mouth, crinkled testament to frequent laughter. Lean build, designer casual clothes, tight shirt with short sleeves showing firm muscles. Nice. I shook my head. Just once, I decide to drown my sorrows, and now I check out strangers with a complete lack of respect.

Another buzz, and this time I answer.

“Hell . . .”

“ _Where are you_?! I've been calling and texting for _hours_. You're screening my calls, you bastard. What happened? Tell me where you are, I'll be right over.”

I tuned her out for a few minutes, sipping instead of gulping while shrill questions and low implications flowed.

“Toshiro? Can you hear me? You're not listening, are you? _Toshiro_!”

“Would you calm down, Ran? I'm fine.”

“No, you're not. Since when do you not return calls? One text, 'Leaving town,' then you go incommunicado. Where are you?”

“Left town.”

Not that far, really, just up the peninsula to San Fran proper, thinking the old parts of the city might be a good distraction. I still hadn’t decided whether to just hop on a plane tomorrow. Someplace cold, far from the wet heat of the bay in July. Someplace with high piles of crisp, clean snow and the quiet creaking of white-haloed evergreens. I could stay there, watching the snowfall until my heart froze over.

“Oh, _fuck you_. I called Sojiro.”

I winced. _Goddamn feelings_.

“Tell me what happened or tell me where to find you. You need a night alone? Fine. I'll be there tomorrow. But we are going to talk about this.”

“There's nothing to talk about. We had problems from the first week, you know that. I'm not cut out for it, Ran. I can't . . . compromise.”

“Oh, honey, that's not true. Look how much shit you put up with over the years from me.”

“That's different. You aren't my lover.”

“Might as well have been. We lived together for how many years? Money problems, boy problems . . .”

“Your complete lack of cleanliness, loud music and louder television, crying every time a date went south and making me watch you eat a gallon of ice cream, the way you paraded around naked because you were too lazy to wash your clothes, stealing my food and my cash . . .”

“ _Poooiiint isss_ , this wasn't just you being a control-freak and a narcissist.”

“Thank you. That does make me feel better.”

“He was worse. So much worse. He was the one trying to change you instead of appreciating you, getting all pissy when you wouldn't agree with everything he said and kiss his ass. He was the one that said he wasn't jealous of your success, but oh how fucking passive-aggressive can you get? He was the one angry all the time, and you better not try to lie for him again, I know he was getting violent. It’s classic, honey. Emotional and verbal leads to physical. You had to leave before I killed him.”

Nothing I didn't already know. I beat myself up about it, but I knew that my biggest mistake was being willfully blind to the truth, dragging it out way past the point when I should have known it was time to end it. Honestly, I knew before it started that it was a mistake, but what do you say when your best friend of years declares he’s madly in love with you? I’d convinced myself that the warnings in my head were only due to my reluctance to get involved with anyone at all. At age 22, a man should have had more than just one real kiss, right? So, obviously, the problem was with me, not him. Never him.

And now it was over. No chance of salvaging the friendship that had meant enough to me for me to delude myself into thinking it was love, not after the horrible things we had said, the ugly sides of each other we had exposed. Had I been honest two years ago and not let Sojiro convince me that the reason I avoided romance was that I needed a strong emotional bond to build a relationship on, a bond like I had with my best friend, where would we be now? Would he have stormed out immediately? Would he have said it was all okay but then drifted away? Or would I still have a friend?

I wasn’t used to failure. If a thing was important enough, I accomplished it no matter what was required. Until now, and the loss of the most important relationship in my life. I had failed. Completely, utterly, devastatingly. Rubbing between my eyes, trying to dig into the knot of pain that hadn't been lessened at all by the alcohol, I struggled again to wrap my mind around the one question that kept haunting me.

“But why, Ran? We’ve known each other for over a decade, dated for almost two years. He stayed at my place for a week at a time and it was good, we were good. Sojiro knew who I was. Why did it all change just because we moved in together? It doesn't make any sense.”

“It always changes. That's why they say living together is the next step. It does change things, changes the way people see each other. Look, honey, at least you know now, before you got too deep.”

Before I got too deep. Right. Funny, I thought Rangiku would be the one person, other than Sojiro, who would know exactly how deep I had to be to do something like turn my best friend into my boyfriend, to do something like move in with that boyfriend. Seems I was wrong about both of them. I seriously needed to just give up on ever understanding another human being.

“Yeah. At least I know. I need some sleep, Ran. I'll call tomorrow.”

oooooooOOOOOooooooo

Only 24 and already nostalgic. An actual metal key, you'd have to stay at a $25 a night roadside motel for that. This was no five star, but it was quite modern. My penchant for antiques aside, I couldn’t stand old hotels where you could hear the neighbors, practically smell them. Thus, the sacrifice of persaonlity and class for modernity, including soundproofing capable of blocking the busy SFO airspace. All I had to do was wave a piece of plastic and watch for a little green light. Very unsatisfying. The room itself was satisfactory since I had not booked ahead, and all the suites were taken. A cursory glance said it was typically imperfect, all clean except an unwrapped plastic cup and a stray piece of paper on the nightstand. I made the hard right into the small hallway with a sink on one side, a tiny, doorless closet on the other, and froze.

A razor, toothbrush, tube of paste, deodorant, cologne all placed around the sink, a small black case on the shelf. A compact suitcase sitting crooked with zippers gaping open on the closet floor. _Damn it_. This had happened once before, lazy front desk staff. Last time, I'd been lounging on the bed with my laptop open when an older couple came in. The man had wanted to argue with me about whose room it was, like that would have done any of us any good.

Now I heard the movements my fuzzy brain must have ignored, someone in the bathroom, the faint drip of water, must have just finished showering. I turned to slip out. They, _he_ based on the toiletries, would never know. My hand was gathering up my satchel when the bathroom door opened.

Alcohol, that had to be it. No other reason I would stand with my mouth open, eyes following a silver teardrop as it quivered at the edge of an alluring clavicle before falling, lucky thing, onto a rounded pectoral, rolling down and sideways to the center of the toned chest only to drift back along the line of a perfectly formed trench at the top of abdominal muscles. He'd been talking, that mouth with the barest hint of future smile lines somewhere far above the fluffy white towel riding low on straight hips.

“Sorry, what?”

“I said, I didn't think you were coming until ten. Sorry, didn't mean to be waltzing around in my birthday suit, even if it is my birthday. Guess it doesn't really matter, right? Just, uh, make yourself comfortable. I just wanna dry my hair.”

He put his hand on my shoulder, long fingers, manicured, and gently pushed me toward the open space of the room instead of out the door. Confused, a bit dizzy and wondering if I was still in the bar hallucinating, I walked as guided. His voice was lovely, full of energy if a bit nervous. Well, who wouldn't be with a stranger walking in while they showered? Though he didn’t seem shocked or angry about my presence. Was this some kind of hostel, room-share, new hippie bullshit? There was only one king-sized bed.

“I was going to get some wine before you came. Place doesn't have champagne. Is that stupid? Too romantic? I hope they told you . . . god, please tell me they told you.”

His nervous, adorable face popped around the corner, slightly blushing. It hadn’t been a trick of the light, his hair was definitely orange, sunset-over-the-bay orange. I would assume it was dyed, but then I should be the last person to make assumptions about strange hair. His chest sported a light scattering of hairs, almost blond, like the ones on his arms and legs that were likely bleached by the sun that drenched into his luscious skin. I should have noticed when I was closer to him. I should get closer, just to see if there was red in that blond. Mmm, there was the color, the thicker line from the nearly flat bellybutton trailing down, down . . . _god_.

“Told me what?”

“Oh, shit.”

His head vanished again, and I eyed the door. Past time to leave. Go now, bite the heads off the staff and get a quiet, _unoccupied_ room to pass out in. Nope, too late.

“So,” Mr. Tan-Hot-and-Mostly-Naked stepped out, blocking the exit, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. “My friends arranged this. They said they told the agency. This is kinda my combination birthday and coming out present. So . . . I've, uh never really . . . I'm not a virgin, I've been with girls.”

Gears began to turn. Slow, bourbon-soaked gears, sloshing through circumstance and conjecture to the shocking conclusion. I really should leave. I wondered what his mouth would taste like.

“Okay. Your friends aside, what is it _you_ want from me?”

The situation was hilarious, really, could be even funnier depending on his answer. What was it in that movie . . . the prostitute shows up and the guy says he wants to take a bath in Pepto Bismal and have her shave his buttocks or something? Seemed hysterical at the time.

“Ah, well I . . . god, you're fucking _gorgeous_. Sorry.”

Gorgeous?

If I told him he was mistaken about my identity, he would probably be too embarrassed to open the door when the real thing came along, and I couldn't help but imagine how far this could go. My hand moved without orders, dropping my overnight bag by the end of the bed. My feet moved without orders, control coming back only one long step away from the tight, fit, sweet body. My fingers twitched without orders; I could almost feel that damp towel, almost feel my fingers tugging it away to see the entire picture.

Yes, I was close enough to tell now. That red-gold sheen of fine hairs gilding his arms, his chest, his legs, and that bright neon happy trail that I so wanted to follow said yes, the improbable color was natural, or close to it. Delightful.

“You're apologizing for complimenting me? Tell me, what do you want?”

I could hear my voice as if someone else spoke, perfectly in control, soothing with a healthy serving of seduction sprinkled on top. I watched the pause, the falter in his thoughts before his brain restarted. A deep breath and he rushed into his request, stumbling but determined and honest as I focused on not smirking. Or drooling like a dog staring at a steak, for that matter.

What the hell was wrong with me? Drunk, yes, but quite capable of rational thought. I'd never flirted with anyone. At all. Not even Sojiro, much to the prick's annoyance. Now I was throwing myself at this kid whose name I didn't know and not really caring about the way my brain was attempting one last, pitiful effort to get me to listen to reason.

“Yeah, okay. So, of course I was thinking I want to fuck you, obviously.”

Oh, that did it. The brain was now out of the game.

In such cute tones of false confidence he spoke lechery, unaware of how I had to clench my teeth as those words skittered down my spine. This was new. Just being in that hazy wonderland of drunk but not insensate? Or had my failed relationship awakened a part of me I had managed to avoid for twenty years? Either way, it was beyond pleasant, the lovely warmth and tingling arousal.

“But, my friend Renji said he asked the agency and they'd send someone who could . . . see, I've never, well, I've watched videos, porn alright, I get the basics but maybe . . . you could, um . . .”

“You want me to show you, guide you? I can do that.”

His hand come up as mine did, wrapping around my bicep as mine wrapped around the back of his neck, christened by little drops of cool water gathered again at the tips of towel-ruffled tufts of hair. He was exactly my height without his shoes, such an easy fit. Warm breath on my lips, scent of mint toothpaste, his eyes locked with mine, uncertain but aroused. Full of hunger, bodies held an inch apart, I paused just before I went too far.

Too far? Someone was going to be had by this delicious young man tonight. Someone was coming to experience a night of bliss with this clean-cut pretty boy between their thighs. _Why shouldn't it be me?_

“Just keep in mind, I'm a thorough teacher. After you've had your lesson, you'll be expected to show what you've learned. Perhaps more than once.”

He was the one to close the small distance, open lips dancing across mine for a long second before I pressed closer. Toothpaste and mouthwash, warmth and wetness, my tongue trying to find a hint of his real flavor, regretting the lack as the alcohol on my breath mixed with the alcohol of the wash. My hand massaged his neck, while my other fingers trailed the path of that vanished droplet over collar, sternum, under ribs to solid side and cooling towel.

Wrong, this was wrong. He thought I was some paid whore. I was acting the part quite well. I who had only kissed two people this way in my life. I know the reputation, male promiscuity, gay male double that. God, it had taken two months, teasing pecks on the cheeks, then the lips, two months before I could let myself give in like this with Sojiro and I’d known him half my life. Yet here I was sucking on the slick tongue of a stranger.

“Your name.”

Those lips were soft from the shower, from youth, how old was he? His hands pressed on my stomach, pushing between fabric as they slid up my chest, to my shoulders. I shrugged the jacket off, not caring where it landed. I should lie, give a false name. Then I'd never get to hear him calling my name as he came. Oh, imagine it, soft velvet ‘ _Toshiro, Toshiro, oh god Toshiro_!”

“Toshiro. Yours?”

He laughed into my mouth as we connected again, and I explored the curves of his spine as his hands tugged my shirt out of my slacks. He moaned as I licked at the roof of his mouth, breathing getting harder before he broke away. I wasn't ready for the loss of heat on my lips and decided his neck looked quite inviting. I was right. Mmm, the hum of his voice under my lips, the bobbing of his throat tempting nibbles to catch and hold.

“They really don't tell you anything, do they? I’m Ichigo. Oh, ohhh that . . .”

Yes, that. Didn't any of his girls worship his skin the way they should? It was smooth, supple, tight under my fingers along his back, but with some give here, where everything was so vulnerable, easy to nip and suck above thundering pulse. Easy to pull on terrycloth, his hands too busy undoing shirt buttons to catch the falling white.

He stumbled back a step, right into the projecting corner of the hallway wall. Oh, to be so new, lovely cock already stiff enough that the towel caught and dragged over the sensitive skin, making him gasp. I turned it into a groan, catching the full flesh in my hand and squeezing lightly to get the feel of him imprinted into my skin. Bigger than Sojiro, more than a good 7 inches, probably close to 8 and still growing, filling my palm, fingers wrapping gingerly around.

I deserved this. I couldn't remember the last time . . . no, I knew for a fact I had never been so attracted that I even thought of doing something like this. I simply wasn’t built that way. Or maybe I had been wrong about myself all along. It wasn't just the alcohol, wasn't just his beauty, wasn't just heartbreak or some twisted need to abuse my memories. Was it?

 _I deserved this._ My hand sliding up, fingertips finding the details, mapping out veins, ridge, foreskin uncut, good, more parts to play with. It was an unsought gift, manna from Heaven, the young god in my hands willing, stiffening. I could have him and no one would get hurt. Parting ways was expected, feelings were not involved.

“Ungh! Toshiro . . .”

Yes, that sounded nice.

His skin was too clean, too sterile, though starting to soak in the flavor of bourbon and saliva as I lavished attention on his collarbone and his cock at the same time, my free hand delicately dancing up and down every inch of his torso I could find. There was a small scar between collar and heart. I sucked some color back into it before working my way down to his chest. The shocked sound he made when my tongue found the hard peak and my lips closed to suck there, too, told me that this area was just as neglected, likely only teased by his own fingertips when he was alone and blushing at toying with his own nipples. Not as badly as he was blushing now, unsure whether to push his chest closer to my mouth or push his hips into my stroking hand.

“Hey, what's . . . aaah . . . the hurry?”

Cute. His fingers fumbled, responding so quickly to my manipulations that he forgot all about the effort to undress me. I trailed open lips and the tip of my tongue back up his neck to grab the simple silver stud in his ear, worrying it between my teeth, thumb slipping across the blossomed head as tight foreskin was pulled up and pushed back down between my fingers.

“Trust me, precious, I know what I'm doing.”

Practically a virgin, panting a bit already, unsure hands grabbing at me, not certain whether to pull me closer or push me away. Noisy, too, again as if he could not decide on one reaction, a quiet moan, a grunt, a hiss, and all these little lilting sounds at the back of each sigh, his own wordless language of want.

“Relax. Let yourself enjoy it.”

My whisper against the corner of his mouth made him draw in a breath, then I added to his secret language the smacking of lips, the clank of teeth, the wet slurping of messy, excited tongues. Wet below, just a little, just enough to change the friction into slick, allowing me to jerk roughly that balanced length, hard as steel now, and I was dying to taste it.

He'd finally managed to get his hands to work, and I had to release his eager dick with a silent promise to it that I would return as I shrugged most of the way out of my shirt, much more interested in his bare shoulder under my lips, moving gently with the flexing of his muscles and decorated with a scattering of red-brown freckles. My arms twisted up over my head as I sank down, his hands tugging ineffectively on my shirt-cuffs as I dragged my face down his handsome body. What a picture this must make, arms wrenched up high, trapped by hands and cloth, kneeling low before the bronze youth to bring my mouth to take over where my hand had left him wanting.

Too clean, but here his scent was cutting through the unappetizing soap, and I looked up as I nuzzled into hair a darker shade of red, neatly trimmed and damp, heat and wet skin pressing against my cheek. He groaned as he stared, a wild look about him, stopped working on pulling my hands free of cotton and just clung to them, fingers entwining, and I didn't mind, didn't need them, anyway. Tilting my head, I took my first taste from hot satin, the bland precum I had smeared along his shaft, barest hint of bitter, better than . . .

I tried not to think about him, tried not to compare. Sojiro was the only one I had done this for, so perhaps it was unavoidable that my thoughts would drift. I had enjoyed everything so much in the beginning, enjoyed him. Strange how wanting another person makes every sensation a delight. Strange how the souring of a relationship soured everything, the tastes, the scents, the sounds all spoiled.

But this, handsome and eager and moaning my name, this was fresh, no expectations or resentments, no struggle to please in hopes that shared carnality could rekindle true passion, and I desperately wanted to devour every bit of this boy.

“Oh, fuck! That's . . . you . . . _fuck!_ ”

Yes, my tongue could have that effect, especially when burrowing gleefully into a leaking, swollen slit, flicking down to play with the tightened band of skin on the underside, one of my own favorite places to receive attention. He dropped my hands with a low-pitched moan, grabbing my hair, and I thought that his past female partners were rubbish lovers. One didn't have to be male to know how he would react when I closed my lips and suckled on that favorite spot, when I let go to run my tongue back up the slit, then under and around the crown before taking him in and continuing to explore with my tongue as I added a little suction.

Poor thing, deprived thing, his shoulders digging back into the corner of the wall, hips pushing toward me with strangled groans and huffs, fingers grabbing tight, scraping my scalp. He was not going to last long. That was a shame as it had been awhile since I had allowed myself to enjoy this, sucking on him enthusiastically, stuffing him down my throat until those orange hairs tickled my nose.

My own response was delightful, the slow build of pressure I loved, warmth that would eventually become a raging fire, the anticipation nearly as good as the outcome. That had been the most ridiculous of all our arguments. Most men, I should think, would be thrilled to have a partner with endurance, one that didn't mind giving great head, getting fucked, letting their lover have as many orgasms as they could handle. But no. Maybe Sojiro's pride was wounded when he couldn't outlast me. How he expected me to comply with his demand to 'just be a normal man' I couldn't say. Even when I encouraged myself to cum quickly, he'd say I was mocking him.

 _Enough_ , there were better things to think about, like how much bigger, how much more of a challenge, the long, heavy weight on my tongue. Like abandoning that cock to earn a strangled yelp when I bent my head back and flicked my tongue over the full testicles, shaved, clean, then pushed at the seam between them, back up to the lonely, glistening penis. Like sucking it again into my mouth hard enough to make him wince before gentle licking and then bobbing my head for some fast friction.

I was good at this, even when I wasn't trying. No gag reflex and a flexible tongue, gifted one might say if one were a complete pervert. But it was enthusiasm for providing true pleasure that set me apart; I'd figured that out just by comparing myself to the only man to ever get on his knees for me, so reluctantly. Well, this man certainly approved as my tongue cradled and massaged even while I took him deep, letting his hips move a little between my lightly restraining hands, letting him set the rhythm.

Only, he didn't do what I expected, what I had primed him for, what Sojiro had always done. No, he moved slowly, groaning through clenched teeth when we both pushed forward. One hand still gripped tight in my hair, the sharp tugging not pleasant but not significant, not unexpected. The other hand softened, stroking hair then my neck, around to my strained jaw. My eyes flicked up; I knew how good it felt, how powerful it made a man feel to see dilated eyes wide and looking up at you above lips stretched around your cock. Still, despite the pulsing of hard flesh, the surge of fluid that made me swallow and made his rough breathing break with a soft cry, still he moved carefully.

No need to restrain him, then. I moved my hands, wrists still connected by the length of my shirt, eyes watching his face as I pressed on drawn-up testicles and then gave them a firm rub. A startled grunt and a thrust made me growl, more stimulation to make this birthday gift stay in his fantasies, a treasured memory to dust off when old and gray and incapable of getting head even from a whore.

It was finally enough, and I marveled for a second that he had outlasted my expectations. I didn't even have to move my fingers farther back. I should have tried that earlier. He may have bought someone to fuck, but I was willing to bet he’d be game to switch with the right inspiration. Even with his thighs shaking, his head pushing back, neck looking so long from this angle, still he managed some control. The soft hand moved back into my hair, I could feel the effort not to clench, tendons straining.

He didn't play the courtesy game, acting like he wanted to spare me, warning me to back off. That was always a shallow lie; every man wanted to see his partner dripping with cum, swallowing and choking. We are all beasts. No, he cried out unrestrained, and gave in to the need to grab my hair again, thrusts deeper, faster, finally causing the expected bruising, but still, still . . . it was just him, I realized. Gentle, considerate, more aware of me, a one-night stranger, than my own lover had been. He looked down one more time as I drew back enough to suck before his head thumped against the wall, eyes clenching and a harsh moan full of wonderful relief. My arm wrapped around the back of his thighs, holding him to me as I drank him down, thick and unique, sweeter than . . .

I watched the effects of my work, accepting another deep thrust, listening to the second moan, more drawn out, almost painful, a hint of awe. His eyes opened, staring blankly as all those perfect muscles clenched and relaxed in his pleasure. God damn, he was beautiful.

Swallowing the last he had to offer, I held him for another breath or two, his flesh twitching as I let harsh breaths fill what little space remained in my mouth, basking in the warm ache of need. Then slowly, gently I let him go, one last caress of the tongue, one kiss to the hot, wet silk of his skin before rocking back on my heels. Licking my lips free of spit and some escaped pearls I had worked hard to win, I hid the grinding of my jaw with a swipe of my clothed wrist over my mouth, then flicked the cuff-links open expertly one after the other, humming as the shirt dropped onto my knees below the obvious signs of arousal straining the cloth at the front of my pants. That had been . . .

“Amazing.”

He had to twist his body, allure of flexing muscles under damp skin, to get down on one knee, his hand lifting my tired jaw so that he could kiss me. I responded eagerly, surprised a little, used to my partner avoiding my mouth after something like that. Sojiro would even rush off to wash out his mouth on the increasingly rare occasions he ‘treated me’ to the same. I'd never understood it, thinking it was rather silly and more than a little offensive to object to tasting each other after such intimacy.

I was right, the flavor on my tongue diluted with his saliva, shared in long, warm strokes, this was how it should be. _Delicious_.

My moan made him break away to search my face, still breathing fast, myself still panting a bit from the exertion and restricted airflow, but he didn't back off. His hand at the back of my neck, my hands on his bare waist, foreheads touching. For a moment, I nearly broke down, feeling the sudden urge to sob. I had thought I had love and all that it entailed when I barely had grudging affection from my partner. But this - warm, intimate, almost loving, and it hit me like a mortal blow. A whore could have this. _Why couldn't I have this_?

“Hey,” his grip tightened and loosened on my neck, “you okay?”

From sorrow at unwelcome heartbreak to amusement at his sudden protectiveness, unstable thoughts and emotions in a drunken and lust-hazed mind, and I pulled myself together. I had come this far, and only wonderful things had happened. Why not have the rest? Now, after this, I would know better what to look for in a partner, the simple caring and easy intimacy here between two strangers on a hotel floor already more than I’d ever had, more than I had thought to find.

“Hmm. Amazing.”

I gave his word back to him, watching his concern fade with a playful grin. Strong legs pushed him back up, and I took the offered hand, lifting myself as close to his body as possible, not wanting to allow any further awkwardness to break the sensuality of the night. And I took back control, a fast, hard kiss and then turning away, pulling his hand to make him follow.

“Come, precious. That was just an appetizer, a little something to whet the appetite.”

Oh, his laugh was worth selling my soul for, the brightest, most carefree music I'd ever heard.

The towel I had grabbed from the sink was tossed toward the pillows as I yanked off the blanket. Sex with a stranger was far less risky to my health than bare skin on the top layer of a hotel bed. On that note, where did I leave my bag? I turned to find it, only to once again find myself face to face with Mr. Tan-Hot-and-Now-Completely-Naked-ThankYouGod, who saw fit to grab my hips and pull me closer. My attention shifted immediately.

“Time for the main course, then?”

“Mmhm. We’ll skip right to your birthday cake.” I pet his flat stomach with both palms. “If you can fit it in.”

Ah, double entendres. Though, if I was honest, I was just a bit concerned about the 'fitting it in' part of the evening. It had been a few weeks since I had let Sojiro touch me, and then it was a disappointing act of desperation and grief. This handsome devil was quite a bit bigger. Good thing he was inexperienced, or he might wonder why a male prostitute wasn't a bit more loose.

His abdomen was perfect, a soft layer of flesh over a solid plane, stretched over six pack and shallow navel down between lines of obliques to my good friend in its neat nest of flame. He must work out incessantly. I was fit, swimming far more than a hobby, it was how I centered myself. But a thin build made me look rather weak when clothed. It had certainly surprised him when my shirt came off. I could see appreciation in his eyes, feel it in the hands stroking my sides, and I returned it. If I had been his gift-whore, I would have considered myself blessed to be paid to play with him.

Lips met again and again, his smile lingering, my own, a shy thing, barely noticeable as kisses deepened. I did not object to the unbuckling of my belt, the slipping free of buttons, the sliding of a zipper. My shoes were still on, and I worked instep to heel to pull off one after the other as pants fell to make a pile trapping my feet. He tried to hold on to my tongue as I pushed him, stepping back and sideways out of his arms. In just black socks and seriously tented dark green boxers now, I moved away, back to the recent objective, somewhat surprised that he let me go.

The satchel I carried was just big enough for my laptop, clean shirt, a change of underwear and socks, perhaps a book. It was ideal for quick business trips and had become my regular overnight bag for getaways. It was still fully stocked, and I found the plastic tube of lubricant, the handful of condoms. I didn't waste more than a second thinking of who they were originally intended for.

When I turned back, I paused. He was just watching me, a silly half-smile on his face, a look of odd familiarity mixed with arousal and anticipation.

“What? Please tell me you know what these are?”

He blinked, and then, good God, blushed. He was too fucking adorable, especially when he rallied and stepped forward, scowling, grabbing a packet out of my hand.

“If you're so worried, shouldn't you have used one earlier?”

I held up a different packet between two fingers with a smirk. It had been even longer since Sojiro had been willing to let me take him, but I still had larger sizes. Of course, the size difference pissed him off, too. I suppose he expected me to stay shorter and smaller than him in all ways for the rest of our lives just because I had been tiny when we had met. Comparing my boyfriend’s penis size to mine had never even occurred to me, and certainly didn't affect how I felt about him or about sex. If that’s what he wanted, I would have stayed submissive to Sojiro for eternity if he had only . . . enough, damn it.

“That one’s too small, precious, for either of us. And yes, I should have. I couldn't help myself with such a perfect specimen begging for my attention, got carried away.”

There was that blush again, and the hand not holding the average-sized condom went up to rub the back of his neck.

“Do you think, maybe, I could get a bit carried away?”

There wasn't a man alive who could say no to that, homosexual or otherwise, and I hoped he might repeat the request later. I resisted; it hadn't just been alcohol and lust and need that had made me fall to my knees. He was nervous, aroused, and that first release would give him the time to truly enjoy what came next. But not if I took his offer, let him 'treat me' to what I was certain would be an unforgettable blow job, I mean, the kid was so damn considerate he'd probably take an hour about it.

“Well, it is your night,” I stepped forward, hands going back to that smooth belly, palms running up to ribs. “But I suggest you wait and let me do what I like for a while. I guarantee you'll thank me for it.”

And I pushed, not too forcefully so that he did have some choice in the matter. I grinned as he fell back onto the bed, and again he responded with a lopsided smile.

“You’re unbelievably hot when you smile, Toshiro.” Pretty sure my cock heard that. “Now, please lose the boxers already.”

A moment was stolen to take in the image of him partly propped on his elbows, legs parted and hanging over the edge of the bed on either side of my knees while he hummed, looking me up and down as I shed the last scraps of clothing. Too bad he hadn't requested a top for the night, I would be more than glad to perform that service. Just the sight of him sprawled there as I leaned on each of his knees in turn, balancing to take off my socks, his eyes locked on my erection bobbing happy and free as I moved, was enough to make the night worth all the regret I was sure to face when alcohol and bad judgment wore off.

“God, your agency deserves one hell of a tip.”

A quick movement and he sat up, arms wrapping around my lower back to hold me close, mouth teasing, hot breath and skimming lips across my chest, my cock pressed above his navel and I could feel his against my thighs. Not part of the plan, yet I could let him have a little time. This was part of the lesson, after all, if he wanted to be a decent lover. Normally, I could hold back through a lot more foreplay, but I was too aroused by this illicit affair, this delectable young man, I was aching already.

“Hmm? Just the agency, not me?”

He chuckled, one hand slipping down to fondle my ass, fingertips tentatively running along the seam without pressing in. The orange head bent to nip lightly at the muscles running along ribs.

“It’s just . . . I didn’t think I’d get what I want, a real man that would let me do this, not some girly twink.”

The derisive snort was mild, amused at his irrationality. Men came in all kinds of packages, and you couldn’t predict which would be the best partner based on looks. Then again, the boy had no experience. He'd learn not to judge a lover on such shallow attributes someday. Or he wouldn't; after all, I was still salivating over his body even if his personality was starting to intrigue me. I was lucid enough to know that I had no right to criticize anyone else’s choice of partner. Sojiro had been my only lover, and I was now gathering evidence of what I’d suspected, that my former lover was a selfish, inhibited, unskilled asshole.

My hands ran through bright hair, over his shoulders, down his back and up again as he tasted and licked around my chest. My tensing as his tongue circled closer to my waiting nipple made him look up, seeking approval. I gave it with a deep sigh, hands in his hair to encourage him closer.

Warmth and sudden suction made me gasp, his hand trailing from around my back to tease and pinch the other side, while its partner kneaded the top of my thigh. A bit braver with each positive response, those fingers pressed closer, between flesh, offering the first hint of pressure where I wanted it. These were the only instructions this virile youth needed, simple, honest reactions enough to guide him.

“I think you wasted your friends’ money, precious. You’re doing quite well, indeed.”

The words or the slightly breathless tone drove him on, and I found myself clutching those solid shoulders as tongue and careful teeth set to work. Trying not to give in too much, still my moan was genuine, and he knew it. I could feel his recently satisfied length harden against my legs as I tried to part them, to make room for his hand as it pushed me into him, dry fingers chafing the delicate skin of upper thighs and perineum as one fingertip started to prod at my entrance. I didn’t mind the clumsy technique, but this wasn’t entirely about me.

“Ichigo, easy.”

Everything stopped, brown eyes looking up at me, chin on my sternum, hands frozen where they were. I kept my voice light, not teasing, definitely not trying to sound like I was lecturing, petting his hair with a faint smile. It was tempting to just go with it, but then again, I had agreed to give pointers.

“Were you serious about wanting to learn?”

“Yeah, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, for me. But not everyone would appreciate that. Remember, you aren’t dealing with a woman. Saliva will do in a hurry, but lubricant is now your best friend.”

A timid or apologetic response was expected. Having his hands move, arms wrapping around me as he partially stood and pulled and twisted was not. Before I could do anything more than yelp, he had used that athletic, muscled body to partly pick me up and flip me around to land on my back, crouching over me and lifting me again to push me farther onto the bed while I still reeled, far too excited at being manhandled like that and not about to protest. The shy, nervous boy veneer was breaking, only a little encouragement and his natural confidence was starting to exert itself, and I couldn’t be more delighted.

Insistent lips on mine added to the breathlessness, bold tongue stroking mine made the dizziness swirl into a lovely haze. Just as my eyes began to roll back in pleasure, he broke away, rocking back to sit on my thighs as he leaned sideways, reaching for the plastic tube on the nightstand. I caught my breath and focused on the way ribs showed between striated muscles as he twisted up and over like a swimmer reaching for the next wave, stunning and lovely and requiring my hand to pet and explore.

He froze in that pose for a second, living statue of a young god, eyes turning back to me, the vibration of a purr under my happy palm. Then the flesh bunched in my hand as he came back to me, nose gently nudging mine and I met his eyes in a sort of daze. The reality of what I was doing was suddenly overwhelming, and I examined it as I distracted him with gentle kisses. No longer could I pretend any reluctance. I wanted to do this and had no shame in taking the offered passion. I was a liar, a charlatan, a thief. I was a slut stealing this night to wound and heal my own heart with no real consideration of any consequences to others. This I would never have allowed had I not already set out on a dissolute path of self-destruction, pouring numbing alcohol into the cold emptiness.

“Ichigo, I . . .”

He recaptured my lips, stopping the foolish confession. His skin was so silken soft and warm, the weight of him dropping close and hot as he moved a hand to frame my face and all I could think of was how wonderful it would feel to have him simply on top of me, pressing me down with nothing but gravity and that luscious body. Any resolve I had to come clean about my deception and how I planned to use him was gone, swept away in the curl of his tongue. Too late, there was no going back now, far too late.

“You tell me again if I could do better, beautiful. But I have to have you soon.”

I knew that, could feel that, his need pressing below and beside mine, now nearly as swollen and ready as it had been when I first tasted him. Ah, the wonderfully short refractory period of the teenage male. My own erection was starting to weep, and I couldn’t help but answer him in the lewdest way possible, bucking my hips up and making him groan at the friction and slide. I moaned, loving the heat dragging along me, damp against my base and sack as I arched high.

Heat vanished in a scrabble of movement, my half-blind eyes barely registering what was changing. That’s how deeply I had fallen into the dark pool of lust after such passive resistance, my thighs parting before his hands even came to my flesh, giving him room to bring his knees between my legs.

“Is this okay?” His voice was raw, trembling, and I knew I had not drowned alone. “I want to see you.”

Reaching blindly, I found a thick pillow and brought it to stuff under me, lifting my hips under his hungry stare. No reason not to be comfortable, I figured. And I’d save my strength for a second round. Perhaps a third. Next, I reached for him. I found his hand, fingers rubbing together to warm the lube, so thoughtful. His breath hitched as I moved his hand down, brushing slick fingers over skin exposed by my wide-spread legs, to the place where I wanted, needed to feel their touch.

Wonder, lust, a little trepidation crossed his face as the pad of one finger circled, lightly pushing. I fought down the irrational urge to laugh, only a faint smile lifting my lips as I watched. I didn't indulge so I did not know; did they not include prep in porn? Probably not, just bend them over and fuck them senseless and no one ever shows pain. He probably only had rumors and questionable advice from the internet to go on. I moved my index finger alongside his, slick from contact with him.

“Would you like me to do this?”

Tea-brown eyes blinked, then narrowed with a scowl though the offer had been sincere. With no further hesitation he pushed in at least a few inches in one go, the jolt of contact making me involuntarily clench for only a second before relaxing. The scowl was gone, the wonder returned, and I did chuckle as he could not resist swirling that finger around, feeling the new territory, the heat of my insides. His eyes flashed up, looking for mockery but finding only my mild smile, my eyes half-closed in anticipation of the pleasure my body expected.

My hand caressed his as it pulled away, leaving him in control. It took some effort to gather a coherent string of words to guide him.

“Go ahead, precious. Feel me. My body will tell you when it's ready for more if you pay attention.”

With that I let go, relaxed back to let myself melt into the softness of the bed, all attention focused on his movements and the sensations shifting from the dark hunger of the kisses to this gentle exploration. Tentative and tender, the only discomforts he brought were unintentional, pushing a little too hard, prodding at the ring of muscle a bit too firmly so soon, each little twinge and ache more arousing in a way than practiced perfection.

Though I didn't want them, I couldn't help the surfacing of memories, thankfully vague. I had been Sojiro's first man, he was my first and only lover entirely until now. Thanks to my reticence, it had taken a very long time to get the two of us to a similar moment, the awkward sweetness of discovery. He had been a good deal less patient, and I had hidden the hurt as much as I could in an effort to please.

While my body was now not virginal, it was still shockingly new, this new lover, fingers so long and careful, every bit of him focused but not only on his own pleasure. He watched, I knew though I let my eyes drift shut, watched my breath, the twitching of my brow and lips and cock, the movement of my hands and the shifting of hips. He learned, repeating strokes that made me sigh, softening when I flinched, and his hot breath and hotter lips came to taste my stomach, my thighs, the crease between, avoiding my cock but licking the trails of precum from my skin with a hum.

God, his timing was nearly perfect as he slipped in his middle finger, thumb sliding forward to rub up to and under testicles, making me wrench my legs even wider. Faster would be nice, though, penetrating strokes broken too often to wiggle and pet and make me squirm. Almost, _almost_.

“Ichigo,” I breathed his name, feeling the slight shift in his attention. “Up. Push up, here.”

Not the wisest action, meaning to put my hand below my navel and patting my own straining erection. I hissed, then nearly screamed when he did as told, hitting the right place, harshly, suddenly, _finally._

“ _Oh,_ _god_. Oh, my fucking merciful god.”

I would have laughed again at his words if I weren't busy bucking my hips and sucking in a painful breath, the sharp surge of bliss breaking my control. He waited, bless and damn him, until I calmed a little to try it again, less forceful but more precise, rubbing inside as I strangled another loud cry and pushed down to prolong and intensify and fuck if I couldn't cum just from a few more movements like that.

“Wow. Is it really . . .”

“Yes! Yes . . .. Fuck, don't . . . don't do it again.”

With an effort, I managed to look at him through blurry eyes. Face flushed, eyes dark, panting mouth open, we both needed to get on with it before we were swept away. My hand cupped one burning cheek, tingling as he turned to kiss my palm.

“You need to hurry,” I gulped and took another breath, his fingers gently moving in and out, not meaning to torment but I was too sensitive after that. “Stretch . . . part your fingers, add another, hurry.”

He groaned and complied, mutual urgency making him rougher, and that was good. I needed a little bit of discomfort to hold back. I should tell him to add more lubricant, but the chafing helped with the distraction. Catching my breath, I concentrated on not reaching for my cock, not pushing against his hand until I couldn't take it any longer. It was a little too soon, my muscles not fully relaxed, but I couldn't care as I bent toward him, groaning at the changing pressure, and pushed his hand out of me, away.

“Now, precious, the lube, towel . . ..”

Too many words, one hand reaching and making beckoning motions while the other gripped his shoulder to hold myself up. He blinked, confused, his mind likely as muddled as my own by now, yet he managed to follow instructions. The towel I let fall onto the bed close by, and once I had ripped open the little packet I had kept handy, he surely understood what was to happen next and that I wanted to be the one to handle it.

It could have been the first time I touched him, so novel was the feel of his flesh, hard and hot as I rolled the condom down the twitching length. His breath quickened as I coated both hands and slathered him in shining, slick liquid. He watched, entranced, teeth clenched and hands running up and down my arms. I did not tease much, glad that he was ready but not too close to the edge. I was eager for release but knew I could stretch my own pleasure as long as he lasted.

Releasing him messy and wet and so ripe, I smirked against his lips and yielded to a messy and wet kiss while wiping my hands. Then I rolled back, collapsing down on the mattress, pelvis tilted up by the pillow but not enough. I lifted my right foot up and over his pretty, freckled shoulder, planting my left foot and presenting myself to his wide eyes, feeling that slippery heat rub against thigh and balls as he was pulled close.

Damn, he actually turned his head to lick and nuzzle at my knee, big hand running up and down the outside of my thigh. I admired his restraint, further turned on by the thought of finding a man with enough stamina to not simply fuck and cum and be done with it. He was teasing himself, and I couldn't deny him the satisfaction of delay when I usually loved it myself. So, I sighed and ached and twitched and waited while he left a bruise on the soft skin and then stared at it as I stared at him.

“Sorry,” his voice was hoarse, but I was amazed he could talk at all, “I didn't ask. Probably shouldn't leave marks.”

True, there wasn't a mark on me anymore. If I was a prostitute, a no-bruising policy was the only reasonable explanation. And what the fuck? Why was I even thinking of such things with his cock throbbing against me?

“It's fine. Now, could you shut up and ge . . . hnnngh!”

Should have expected it, taunting a novice like that, let alone a horny teenager. Just like when he had finally taken the plunge with his finger jammed most of the way in all at once. At least it was just the head of his glorious cock, only that and the burn of it was incredible.

“Toshiro! Hey!”

Eyes struggling open, one hand desperately sought and found an arm, the one guiding him in, and locked on before he could slip out.

“K-keep going.” Deep breath, relax, soften, yield. “ _Pleeease_ ,” I sighed.

A groan and he was moving, slower now, pushing as I fell back again, left calf tightening, thigh pushing me up, closer. Most men never experience this. Many men violently hate the idea, feeling threatened by it or simply not understanding the appeal. Inch by inch, the stretching heat of it, slick yet so full it pulled and dragged tissue, setting off alarms from every nerve that something dangerous was happening. That is all pain is, in the end, the nervous system warning of the potential for catastrophic damage. But during this brutal intimacy the mind failed to translate, running the information through some fucked-up, convoluted mess of emotions, a lethal cocktail of endorphins and adrenaline, leaving the confounded brain swimming in lust like heavy water and bliss . . . _such bliss_.

“Oh god, it feels . . .”

I moaned, the sound long and low, basking in the knowledge that he was as lost in me as I was in him. I knew. And it would only get better. Lucky boy had no idea how much better. Nor did I, all my fine words to my former lover about size being irrelevant pushed farther into my gut as he continued and continued. I almost sobbed when the pressure reached the most sensitive parts of me, expanding my passage and pushing on that gland that intensified everything. And this was only indirect, slow petting, the girth of the head enough to provide a good deal of stimulation without even trying.

“You okay?”

The tense voice reached me somewhere in the dark and wonderful haze, and I marveled at how good he felt inside me, just this, just still and fully sheathed. Not since the very first time had it felt so intense and _goddamned beautiful_. And he . . . Ichigo was beautiful, too, bronze skin accented by my pale leg as he leaned slightly forward on his knees, the glimmer of concern fading and returning through waves of pleasure timed with the rippling of my muscles as they adjusted.

“Noooo,” I breathed, shifting just enough to make him wince. “No, I'm not. Please, for the love of god, fuck me!”

A hand was pressed into the bed, forearm against my waist. Another hand was stroking down from my knee that was being kissed once more, down my thigh, fingers finding and tracing my hipbone, and I was so annoyed that I could feel those touches, that I could feel anything except his cock pounding into me rather than motionless, becoming part of me.

Fucking liar, so innocent with his big brown eyes, asking for instruction. Fucking tease, holding still when I made it clear what I wanted. My eyes narrowed as I caught the grin on his busy lips. Then I remembered, I was not, in fact, his paid companion. I owed him nothing.

He probably thought I was only moving my knee away from his kisses, especially when I couldn't hold back a guttural moan at the shifting within as my legs flexed. Perhaps I shouldn't . . . I could just enjoy this. But I wanted. I needed like never before. Both knees pulled up toward my chest, both feet settled low on his abdomen and shoved, pushing him back, and the feel of newly stretched depths suddenly emptied, the friction and slide, I would have wailed in ecstasy if I weren't so irrationally enraged.

The lewd sucking sound of his departure was accompanied by two gasps, but I did not take the moment to enjoy the feeling. He was off-balance, and I was always underestimated. My legs stopped pushing, slipping to either side of him as I lunged forward and sideways, twisting his weight with mine. With a startled 'Oof' he found himself flat on his back, my hands pinning his shoulders as I straddled his pelvis.

“What the fuck?”

Priceless, the blinking confusion, burgeoning anger, startled yelp when I leaned down and bit his lip. My need had doubled in the last few seconds, cock trapped tight on his stomach, smearing his skin. The steel encased in latex was close to where it belonged, and I licked the tiny bead of blood on his full, sweet lower lip before I shoved his shoulders down, sitting partway up.

“You only had to do as you were told.”

My tone was scolding, but I chastised through a wicked smirk. He opened his mouth, no doubt with some biting comeback. His muscles tensed deliciously beneath me and hands grabbed at my legs, no doubt to try to force a reversal. All protests died quickly enough when I grabbed that slippery devil and lifted myself.

Frozen in place, a look of astonishment, gripping hands, and he let out a deep groan as I did a little teasing of my own. Carefully, I lowered myself just enough to enjoy that swollen head forcing the still-resistant muscle open, the wonderful pressure and then relief when the corona passed through. Then I lifted again, slowly, savoring the sensation in reverse. His hands moved, heading for my waist to pull me down. I smacked one with a hiss, lifting away from him.

“Fine. Fine! Do whatever you want.”

I chuckled, accepting his petulant tone as an answer to my own playfulness. As I dropped my weight onto him, quickly but with some care for how raw I was feeling from lack of use and his size, his body tensed, shoulders and knees coming off the bed in reaction. I noticed through a veil of satisfaction, writhing a bit on top of him, feeling the root of his cock stretch me further as I rubbed my balls on his rough hair and smooth skin.

This, too, I rarely was able to do and could never thoroughly enjoy. Sojiro always had some acidic comment about how inelegant this position was, privates bouncing and smacking, leaking on him. The teasing had a malicious note of jealousy, no appreciation for how vulnerable the one so exposed felt, no understanding of what a gift it was to be able to trust a partner enough to not just want this, but to revel in it.

He understood, this intimate stranger. Nothing but desire and enjoyment showed in his face as his dark eyes devoured every bit of me, nothing but worship in his hands now caressing my thighs, struggling onto one elbow so that he could see everything, staring in unabashed hunger. That sealed it; I had been cheated. God, I would have stayed with Sojiro forever if he had been just a little kind, the friend I had relied on for so long, and then I never would have known. All the desires and instincts I had suppressed because of my lover's selfish and narrow opinions, I would never have known that I was right.

It was as if my heart began beating again after years of being squeezed tighter and tighter, forced into a smaller and colder space with every harsh word, every unfeeling action. I could let it all go, thanks to this. This happy accident, this magnificent young man had _set me free_.

Maybe he would wonder, my orange-haired savior, wonder why I began to laugh as I moved, all the way up until I felt the ridge of him against my opening and sinking down only to do it again, faster and lighter. So good, so incredibly full and hot, slick enough to enter easily, big enough to drag. Soon he figured out how to time a shallow thrust of his hips, adding speed and impact, the slapping of flesh joining the wet squelching, heated grunts and sighs.

He let me control the pace, only his tightening hands and the bucking of his hips encouraging me to move faster. The swirling desire in my gut grew exponentially as I let myself go, seeking release and trusting that he would be pulled along with me. In a moment of clarity, I truly looked at him, saw the almost painful need suffusing the handsome features. I heard my name chanted like a prayer, and answered his supplications by stopping, grinding on his base as he cursed. As I raised myself more slowly, I tightened firmly, swaying hips forward to pull at his length.

The response was beautiful, a near scream of my name and a digging in of nails at my hips. I couldn't help but call his name, too, as I relaxed and fell back down, picking up the rhythm again as if never broken. He was enduing so well, and I was so lost in torrents of ecstasy that I had nearly forgotten how close he was to the edge.

“Ahnn, FUCK! Baby . . . I can't . . . I need . . .”

I tried to answer him, to tell him I was almost there, but all that came out was breath so rough that every exhale was a quiet shout, every inhale a shameless whimper. Surprisingly steady, my right hand reached for his, prying it off my hip as I slowed the aggressive bouncing of my body long enough to wrap those sweet fingers and hot palm around my soaked erection, holding his eyes to convey my instructions.

The first squeezing stroke had me shaking. My hands went behind me, finding the thighs that he lifted to my touch and using them as balance and leverage as I leaned, back arching, seeking the angle that would add a new level to the already overwhelming sensations. The first move up and I knew that this, already the best sexual experience of my life, as good as any fantasy, was about to get so much better. He thrust up as I came down.

It was that kind of white that was full of color, like fresh snow catching and refracting winter dawn, so bright that you could hear it searing your vision, a high-pitched scream in the center of your mind. No, that was my voice, wailing as if I were being murdered, tortured. And I was, every nerve singed by the heat, crushed by the force of his cock ramming into the walls bordering my prostate, grinding against it and continuing on so deep I could feel him in my throat, forcing his name out of my mouth with a string of praise.

“Ichi . . . Haa . . . Haa . . . God, my god, AHHH! You . . . my angel! Ichigo!”

How I moved was a mystery, the body's lust taking over, instincts primal driving me on. Slow withdrawal, vicious entry, concentrated effort by every single muscle in my body without the direction of my mind which had been shut down, overwhelmed. But move I did, stabbing myself again and again like a madman intent on self-annihilation. His hand still jerking my flesh, harsh to match the brutal thrusts, was painfully glorious.

A growl sounded below me, an animal howling in passion and the victory of the kill, and I wished more than anything that I could feel his free release inside me, unblocked by a synthetic barrier, a heat to wash all memories away and christen me anew. The thought of it coupled with the erratic thrusts still perfectly aimed was enough to push ecstasy into world-ending rapture.

I rode him still, languidly adding to his arrhythmic pulsing under and in me, trembling arms bearing my weight, braced against his legs. What seemed an eternity after the final rush of ecstatic release, I managed to see the ceiling. Feeling far more intoxicated than I had when leaving the bar and falling headlong into this madness, I concentrated on getting the heavy weight of my head to move, to look down at the panting, sweaty, cum-splattered mess that was all that remained of the clean-cut boy.

It was supposed to be a laugh, I think, that inappropriate and uncontrollable response to the sight of him thankfully ruined by lack of oxygen. All I did was let out a ragged sigh. My pretty bronze godling was debauched, a sated satyr lying filthy and happily exhausted, eyes fluttering open briefly over a gaping mouth. Drawn as a moth to flame, I pushed against his legs, tipping my balance enough to fall forward, ignoring the startled grunt when my weight pushed vital air out of him before I stole the rest from that warm, wet mouth. His hands on my hips tightened, loosened, arms wrapping around me and holding me against the perspiration and semen as more fluids were exchanged, kisses open and breathless.

Giving up, still swimming in euphoria, I let my head fall over his shoulder and let the roar of his blood fill my ear. Years or minutes later he was kissing my shoulder gently, and I heard him whispering.

“Thank you. Thank you. Toshiro, thank you.”

“Mmm.” I drew myself up, shivers of lingering pleasure only making things clearer. “Precious, I'm the one who needs to thank you.”

I could not tell him why, and that suddenly pained me. But I wouldn't ruin this night with hideous things like truth and feelings. Instead, the lesser sadness of lifting myself off the softened cock, the moment brightened by the amazed brown eyes that followed me as I fell over onto my back beside him. He sat up with surprising energy, ignoring the nasty, sagging wet latex to do something that most would have found shocking. I didn't fight him in the least when he hoisted my leg up and leaned in close to stare. I understood, appreciated it even, the curiosity and the rekindled hunger in his eyes as he twisted closer, bringing his free hand to touch my swollen, used entrance and the glistening fluid gathered there, probably picturing what it would look like if his cum was dripping out of me. I know I was. Then he, thank you gods of licentiousness, grinned.

“That is so fucking beautiful.”

I snickered and grinned myself, giving up the thought of a contented nap as I realized round two was coming much sooner than expected. This time I'd have him over my back. Yes, I could rest a bit that way, legs braced wide and weight down on elbows or lower. Let him do the work this time, as he seemed able and eager. Oh, bless the libido of a teenager.

oooooooOOOOOooooooo

I was sore. I was spent. I was lying on the disheveled, damp, irrevocably stained hotel bedding while a mellow tenor faded in and out of audible range in the shower. Luckily, it was nowhere near big enough for two or he'd have dragged me in there. Or I'd have dragged him. Well, I would have stumbled toward the bathroom and then made him carry me the rest of the way. Fit as I was, I hadn't had a full body workout like that in a long time.

There's that first blush of romance, when two people dance around each other and then one day fall into lust and into bed. I had experienced that, the constant craving for touch, sexual acts every night, every morning. For me and Sojiro it had taken a very long time to build, and then faded quickly, renewed for an even briefer period when we had moved in together, insatiable lust temporarily resurrected. Neither time had been nearly as intense as this night with my birthday angel.

He had insisted, invoked his rights as the buyer and the birthday boy, and taken me the second time the way he wanted to the first time before I had taken over and ridden him like my life depended on fucking him right into the floor. It was slower, at least until the end, and he kept forcing me to back off, taking his time to explore me quite thoroughly including a lengthy blowjob highlighted by tantalizing inexperience and enthusiasm. Poor thing, he hadn't counted on my stamina, but his efforts didn't go to waste. By the time he got around to penetration, I was ready to match him again, to cum together or so close to it that it felt like perfect synchronicity.

It might have been a deliberate error to pass out for a half-hour or so face-down while he stayed awake, petting my back. I woke to what I had wanted, him moving over me, sucking on my buttocks, nipping at the nape of my neck, softly, so careful not to leave the marks that I wanted. Lies always cost you. But remorse faded and eventually he was holding me up by my waist as I tried repeatedly to collapse under him, blissfully overstimulated.

I'd met my match in many ways. Endurance he had, and more energy than I did. He didn't shy away from natural affection or think it dirty and taboo to enjoy everything my body and his could share. He let me have a say in everything, despite believing I truly had little choice in the matter, a bought thing for his use. I was certain that he would let me take him if I asked and considered staying the night to test that belief after a good night's sleep to recover.

God, I could still feel him as I clambered ungracefully out of bed, feel him on my skin, in my mouth, deep, deep inside me. The neat-freak in me insisted on calling the front desk for clean sheets, ordering food while I was at it, picking up and reorganizing my things which were strewn all over the place, and folding his discarded clothes on the short dresser. My slacks and jacket went with me to be hung in the closet, already wrinkled beyond decency, and I found my phone and wallet still in the breast pockets, eyeing the three missed calls from Sojiro with no emotion whatsoever. Too late, my old friend. Far too late.

The singing had devolved into quiet humming as I made my shaky way to the sink in the narrow hall, smirking at my ragged reflection, poster boy for the consequences of decadence. I looked hungover though that headache was hours away, still buzzing a bit from alcohol or just repeated orgasms. I looked used and joyful, a warning and an enticement to all, advertisement for the devil of lust.

A splash or three of water helped, a long drink, a wipedown with a wet rag to tide me over until the shower was free. It would be soon, humming and steam rolling out from under the door. The other door got my attention, a sharp rapping just over my shoulder. I had wanted to save the hotel robe for when I was clean, but it would have to do. I pulled it on before turning to the door, impressed that the sheets were being delivered so quickly.

He was taller than me and used his height to loom over people in wordless intimidation, I could tell. The lecherous grin grew as bold blue eyes took the liberty of slowly and thoroughly checking me out, sucking air between his teeth as his gaze slithered back up to my face, locked in an expression of bored apathy immediately when I saw him and remembered. Ten o'clock.

“Kurosaki? I'm here to wish you a very happy birthday,” he purred, one foot moving closer, one hand coming up toward my face.

He didn't look put off by my grabbing his wrist tightly, his grin baring teeth. I took my turn, eyes traveling down to muscled chest partly exposed between black fabric under a white jacket. White leather, scratch that, fake leather pants hugged a solid waist, package displayed in tight lines and impressive if not enhanced. Strong legs, long, shown well. Back to his face, quite handsome if it weren't for the arrogant smirk and the tacky make-up matching hair dyed outrageously blue. I smiled to think of it with Ichigo's odd but apparently natural shade. No, orange went much better with white; blue was not an option.

The tramp took my smile as approval, trying to come closer. I pushed him back, enjoying the moment of surprise and suspicion making his too-wide smile waver. I held up a hand silently to tell him to stay and turned to find my wallet a few steps away.

“What's wrong, sweetheart? I don't got the wrong room, do I?” I resisted the urge to cringe at his leer and his grammar. “I really wanna stay and play with you, now I've seen how sexy you are.”

I pushed a stack into his hand and he blinked at them as his fingers closed with a crinkle of crisp bills.

“Thank you for the birthday wishes. Your services are no longer required. Good night.”

I heard a “Wait!” and then a curse as I shut the door. Then came some muffled grumbling that got a little more cheerful as I heard footsteps. He was paid either way and got a generous tip without any effort. He didn't have anything to complain about. Not that he knew, anyway.

Looking toward the bathroom door as the water ceased, I thought of just how much the unfortunate prostitute was missing, how much I had gained and indulged in. And it was only ten o'clock. My own grin in the mirror was every bit as lecherous as that whore's had been. The night was young, so was he, so, in fact, was I. I could stay the night, see if I was right about him being willing to experience the full range of bliss we could share by letting me take him. And if not . . . hell, I could teach him a few more positions before I lost the ability to move.

After all, I deserved this.


	2. Whatever You Do - Don't Fall in Love with Your Whore!

It was an outrageous and reckless idea, and I rejected it immediately. At first. I mean, who does that kind of thing? Prostitutes are for the desperate, the ugly, or I suppose the people who don't have time or patience to find a partner. Or dirty old cheating bastards. Right?

Renji I didn't trust as far as I could throw him. He was a dirty old bastard in the making, after all. But Rukia, she was the only person I knew who really made sense most of the time. She pointed out that they were talking about a high-end 'escort' service, one that required recent and clean medical tests, charged top dollar, and ensured discretion. Like that all meant anything. I read the news . . . sometimes . . . when I was really bored. But then, I wasn't planning on running for office or being a priest or something like that where I could get blackmailed by some creepy Madame.

And she did have a point about the, um, practicality of it. I knew I was an idiot. Who makes it to nearly 18 without figuring out they're gay these days? It wasn't like I grew up in Bigotsville and had to hide it or didn't know what queer meant. Just the opposite. If you were going to be a teen questioning your preferences, San Francisco was one of the safest places to be.

How weird was it that I just didn't think about it? Uryu's going theory was that I was monumentally stupid with a complete lack of self-awareness due to said stupidity, and that beat most of the other ideas I'd heard. Whatever the reason, I didn't really have any idea what I liked until the last year or so. Or I did and suppressed it so well that even my subconscious was fooled.

What triggered the epiphany, you might ask? Well, my dad. And _**NO, ew,**_ not like that! See, my mom had died not long before my tenth birthday. Dad had raised me and my sisters alone, working long hours and playing the part of both parents. There was no doubt my dad loved mom, worshiped her still. The affair was a surprise to me, though Karin had suspected for a long time and Yuzu knew all along. Neither had warned me, the little bitches. The day I came home early from school with a fever changed everything; the image of dad and his best friend Kisuke _in flagrante delicto_ on the living room couch was permanently seared onto the back of my eyelids, there to torment me every time I blinked. I might need therapy.

It didn't bother me. I mean, seeing them making out still gave me chills and not the good kind. But as far as them being together, two men, that didn't matter. Sure, I had the usual crisis of the kid who reveres his mother and thinks any new love interest of his father is a soul-sucking home-wrecker even if she wasn’t around to be cheated on. But I was seventeen, and not quite as emotionally shallow as one may be led to believe by my recent actions and changes of orientation.

Then came the questions. What did two guys do together? I mean, I knew the obvious, but was that really appealing? Why would dad and Kisuke want to have a sexual relationship? I didn't ask these things about the many gay, poly, bi, or straight couples at school because that was just people loving people, it was their business. I knew the basics of it, though let me tell you 'sex ed' in schools is woefully inadequate, even if you're straight. But this was my father, and it got me thinking. I sure as shit couldn't ask him, so to the black hole of corruption and deviance known as the internet I went.

Seventeen, and I finally started to get it.

It took me awhile to admit it. I had a girlfriend. She was . . . is . . . stunningly beautiful, sweet, cheerful, caring. I could go on for days. Maybe I was bi? I loved kissing Orihime. Her body was soft and fragrant and so very willing. She was a good girl and didn't push for sex despite the trend to brag about losing one's virginity in high school. Sometimes in middle school. But we'd known each other for ages and officially been a couple for two years, and I really, really liked her. It was easy to say I loved her, especially when she'd hold my hand at mom's grave, or come bouncing in on boring, gray school days bringing the sunshine with her, or when she flushed bright pink as I kissed at her breasts while bringing her to climax with my fingers rubbing and dipping in and out of the heated core of her.

Even then, watching the magic of orgasm flush through her, turning her into a warm and sleepy kitten for me to cuddle, I barely got hard. I didn't think much of it, congratulating myself because my body minded its manners. And I gently discouraged her shy attempts to give me a hand job, saying I just wanted to please her and thinking that I just wanted to keep her clean and relatively innocent at least until we were adults. I was really good at lying to myself.

Damn the internet, anyway. It wasn't the images or the videos, I mean, it was, but indirectly. I started to think about who I really liked, what I really liked, and found myself getting a lot harder picturing a flat chest, thinking of touching another penis and maybe rubbing mine on it, admiring the passing bodies . . . and buttocks of other men on my morning jog. Yet for months, I kept my mouth shut. Did it really matter? I still had Orihime, and the fantasized life we had talked about, a house big enough for kids with a yard and a dog. I wanted kids. I could have sex with her, I knew I'd enjoy it just fine.

And damn Yuzu's sixth sense and Karin's big mouth. Yu figured it out, watching me watch dad, the way I'd drift off in thought when he and Kisuke were around, the curiosity. She noticed me spending more time with Orihime, wrapped around her on the couch (which had been thoroughly sterilized by yours truly) during a movie, kissing a lot more than usual and making her blush.

Yuzu, of course, being the empathic freak of nature that she was, I think maybe she's a witch or something, jumped right to the correct conclusion of overcompensation. She, of course, yapped to Karin.

Senior skip day, a fine tradition, the group was meeting at my house for a carpool to the beach. Karin wanted to skip school to go, and I told her we didn't have room. She went to Orihime, begging to take her seat, which my too-kind princess would have allowed, and I snapped at my sister. Why would I leave my girlfriend behind for a loud little brat? To which she snapped back that I might as well leave Orihime behind since I didn't like girls anyway.

Should have passed unnoticed. Almost did. Lots of laughing from Renji, plenty of teasing from all of them, some very lewd jokes played on your humble narrator in the form of male flirting, especially from Keigo. Only, Yuzu isn't the only overly-perceptive person I know. Rukia, Uryu, Mizuiro, they all started to not laugh as much, started looking at me and noticing that maybe my laughter didn't reach my eyes. No, I imagine there was too much panic in them to show amusement at jokes that were hitting far too close to home.

I’m sure some of them noticed that I spent a lot of that day at the beach overcompensating some more, staring at girls in bikinis which I’d never really done, I mean, who needed to with Orihime around? Beautiful women were everywhere, and beautiful men, tanned and toned, glistening with oil. It was a little safer to stare at the magnificent body of the swimmer, rather pale for the beach but obviously quite at home. No one else was in the water, at least not past the knees. The ocean was cold here, only comfortable once the day was hot.

Sea swimming is, they say, one of the greatest workouts you can get, and this guy did laps from the surf and out into the horizon, tackling the icy waves and strong currents with casual power. Each time he came back to the sand, I watched the water rolling down long, lean muscles and legs that went on for days as he stretched and warmed resting muscle for the next round, wishing he didn’t have tinted goggles and a cap so I could get a good look at him. Well, from the distance I probably wouldn’t recognize him if I saw him again anyway.

More than one of my friends noticed my eyes drifting to the pale god of the sea more than once, I knew. At any rate, the cat was coming out of the bag long before I came out of the closet. But not before I made the most imbecilic mistake of my life. She was a good girl, a good girlfriend, and even she picked up on the fact that there was a big secret in plain sight. She never asked if I was gay, or bi, or anything else. She only asked if I loved her, and I said _of course I did_. And she said then there was no real reason to wait, and I panicked and said _of course there isn't_.

I'm an idiot. I could have owned up to the truth and maybe her heart wouldn't be shattered. It was good, as I expected. I didn't have to conjure images of male models to 'get through it.' No, I enjoyed it . . . it was sex and I was a healthy teenage male. And I loved watching her, feeling her heat up and lose control, seeing her tired smile. It was good enough that I fooled myself again, thinking even if I was somewhere closer to gay than bi, I could be quite happy with Orihime. We settled into a new dynamic, with sex featured once a week or so. Sweet vanilla, missionary for the most part, and that should have been yet another clue. I only caught myself dreaming about more passionate sex with men, not with the gorgeous woman in my bed.

Graduation came and went. Orihime and I were putting off getting ready for college, together, of course, and life continued around us, the happy couple. It didn't stop the way my eyes had started to follow men. It didn't prevent wet dreams that started with big breasts and ended with big dicks. And then one day a bunch of us were in the park, some sprawled on blankets, some playing sand volleyball including me and Hime. After a game, Orihime, Mizuiro, and Keigo dropped out, leaving too few to get a really good second game going. Until three strangers offered to play, and everyone cheered.

He was taller than me, built lean and mean with ripped abs on display between the fluttering ends of an open shirt. The deep V dipped into loose pants, and my mouth went wet watching him walk onto the sand, muscles and tendons flexing with powerful intent, a big cat on the prowl. Renji knew him, an old basketball teammate who had been a senior our freshman year, and I stared as he was introduced. His eyes were magnetic, a pure azure blue and full of a wild streak of mischief that made me think all kinds of nasty things.

Despite the man, Grimm, being the most masculine piece of flesh I'd had the privilege to drool over, something told me his eyes lingered on me a time or two. New sense of gaydar? Just wishful thinking, more like. Or it was the bright blue hair and the artful streak of blue-green make-up accenting under his eyes . . . yeah, that was pretty gay.

By the end of the game, I was a mess. Watching that body in action, the time at the net when he jumped to block and I practically blacked out in the middle of spiking the ball when our torsos slammed together, the sheen of sweat, the carefree and rough laugh that he shouted at the world like a challenge. Every cell in me was screaming ‘get his number, give him yours, _get down on your fucking knees_ and suck his cock!’

I was too far gone to realize that everyone knew. Everyone. Until I turned, intending to rush for my cell phone to exchange numbers with the hottest man I'd ever seen and saw big brown eyes watching me. She wasn't crying . . . yet.

So, that's my sob story, my coming-out story, full of lackluster attempts at tragedy including the failure to notice my bluenette leaving without my number. And that's how I ended up getting unsought and unwelcome advice from anyone and everyone. And that's how I ended up here, staring at Renji and Rukia in disbelief as they announced the grand plan. Many had chipped in. Not Hime, nor Tatsuki who may never forgive me for hurting her best friend, nor Chizuru though she was creepily happy to have Orihime free of me. Still, the dangerous duo had gathered enough cash for the worst birthday present ever conceived. Or the best.

I rejected. I resisted. I thought about it. I gave in. I got really, really excited about it. What had I done to deserve friends that could look me right in the eye and ask me if I was a top or a bottom so they could book me the right whore? Was I blessed to find such loyalty, or cursed to be led down the path of unholy debauchery by those who were supposed to look out for me? Both, I guess.

They'd even gotten enough donated to pay for a nice room in a hotel that was known to be close to soundproof, and a day at the spa to spiff me up for the loss of my male virginity. Well, kinda. Did that mean just being with a guy or getting fucked? Because if that was it, I didn't think I was ready to let a prostitute stick his dick up my ass. And donations? Did the whole fucking school know? Probably. The ‘ _Get the new gayer version of Ichigo laid'_ fund, a fun, family-friendly charity event. God, the shame; good thing it was time for college or I would have had to drop out of high school. And get therapy.

What I did make clear, once I'd gotten used to the idea, was that I did want to be the 'top’, but I didn't want a girly guy. Renji just laughed and asked if I wanted his buddy Grimm. Well, yes, but that wasn't on the menu. Yet. After this, maybe I'd have enough confidence to ask Renji to set us up. For now, I conceded that I was too naïve and inexperienced to do anything like that. So, a night with a professional was starting to sound like the best idea I'd ever heard.

oooooooOOOOOooooooo

None of us were rich. Well, except Rukia. She must have contributed quite a bit to this, I mused. I owed her, owed all of them. They'd even given me 400 bucks cash for tip and 'incidentals,' whatever that meant. Rukia said to give at least half of it as a tip if the guy was any good. I laughed into the hot spray of water, wondering how I could get my hands on about a million dollars by dawn. That was what Toshiro was worth, and more.

I could hardly believe it the first time I stepped out of this shower to find my birthday gift had arrived early. I'd conjured up a thousand images of what he might look like, and every fantasy lover faded, forgotten. Exotic, those eyes forcing me to look closely, searching for and finding no lie though how anything human could be so beautiful . . . that hair, surely not natural until I tasted it for myself, pale as pearl along his flat stomach and shining like silver when dampened by the bittersweet liquids of his pleasure and mine. Narrow, fine chin, high cheekbones, lips not too thin, kissable, every inch.

I hummed, content like I hadn't been in quite a long time. No confusion now. An incomparable woman that I had a loving history with had woken enough desire in me to complete the act satisfactorily. But this, _this was sex_. This was what men rhapsodized and cursed about, what they fought and killed for. And sometimes paid what must have been a small fortune for. Worth it, worth anything, even if my foolish heart ached more than a little at the thought of never seeing him again. I sure as fuck couldn’t afford to become a regular.

Too early to reminisce? Visions of alabaster thighs said not. I could still feel such soft skin over solid muscle, the even softer flesh of two luscious globes yielding under my hands, parting to offer me heaven a third time. I had thought I wouldn't like it, so impersonal it seemed to mount a lover from behind like an animal. He had shown me otherwise, the beauty of his back arching under me, the heated side glances of teal between tufts of silken white, thrown into sharp relief by the wonder of such a strong man in such a vulnerable position, willingly, eagerly.

It is what it is, I thought. I wasn't trying to judge him, but I couldn't help but wonder why. So passionate, so seemingly intelligent, he deserved a true lover, a man who would worship him, respect him, grow old with him. I wondered if I should ask him out; I wondered how many of his clients did just that. I snorted at my own silliness. Toshiro didn't need saving. He was older than me, obviously confident, well-off, and damn did he enjoy his work. That's right, just a business transaction, borrowed affection sweetening the deal.

Faint noises brought my attention back and I rinsed my hair, hearing voices, the door shutting as I shut off the water. Was that him leaving? I thought I got two hours tops based on what Renji and Rukia had told me, but he had been here well over three hours already. He had even implied staying the night. He wouldn't just leave, anyway. The tip was expected. All business.

He was there, just like before, standing and looking at me as I stepped out once again dripping wet with a towel wrapped around my waist. A similar look of desire was on his face, and I could feel the stirring in my gut, amazed that I could want more, that he could want more. There was something else in his eyes, but I didn't have long to contemplate it before he stepped forward, stopping inches from me. His head tilted and bent, and I held still, expecting a kiss, a bite, a lick. He drew a deep breath, sniffing, so close I could feel the air raising goosebumps at the crook of my neck.

“So clean again. What a shame.”

It was unbelievably fucking hot, the raw and dirty implications of those words delivered in such a measured, dignified voice. I had no choice but to grab him, hands groping his ass to pull him closer. Deep but gentle, hungry but tender, tongues danced and smoothly exchanged space within one another. As much as I enjoyed the soft kisses with Orihime, these were so much sexier, Toshiro giving even better than he got, making me weak in the knees. He broke away before it became unbearable, licking his lips and staring at mine as I shook control back into my sick and twisted mind.

“Who was at the door?”

“Turn-down service. I sent them for fresh sheets and ordered dinner. I don't know about you but I'm absolutely ravenous.”

My overused cock started to swell at the new tone of his voice, playful and lustful.

“Can you stay the night? Is that allowed?”

“Hmm. How could I refuse? And don't fret, your friends won't suddenly find a bill. My time is my own.”

“I . . . didn't mean to imply . . .”

“Shh.”

A delicate finger rested on my lips, jewel eyes calmly gazing into mine, and then he was gone, sliding past me into the steamy bathroom. If I had offended, he had forgiven instantly, the familiar flash of teal over his shoulder between long black lashes and locks of white as he dropped the robe to grant me a view of the smooth valley of his spine, the white swell of buttocks . . . the bottom of his foot as he kicked the door closed.

I laughed, couldn't help it, aroused and entertained and for a moment deliriously happy.

oooooooOOOOOooooooo

“No. Eat your cake first.”

“What happened to ‘Clean your plate or you don’t get any dessert?’”

“And that is how people get fat. Besides, what if you keel over from a heart attack in five minutes? Always make sure you get your dessert first, particularly on your birthday.”

I laughed, delighted by the unexpected whimsy. It was hard to tell if he was playing or dead serious, not even cracking a smile as I nuzzled into his hair. He sat between my legs, weight canted a little back into my chest, me propped against the headboard. That, too, had been arranged with a straight face, bossy hands pushing me into place before he crawled up and settled in like I was his personal armchair. The tray of food was balanced over his legs, and I had to hug him firmly to get a bite for myself. Thus, his hand came up, head tilting to look back at me while he proffered a forkful of German Chocolate cake and I obediently wrapped my lips around the chocolatey goodness.

“Mmm.”

“Glad you like it. And aren’t allergic to nuts or something. Killing you would put a damper on the evening.”

“What about you? Any lethal weaknesses you want to share?”

Another bite of cake, and he licked a bit of the coconut frosting left on the fork. We’d licked each other pretty much everywhere, but that innocent little gesture was sexy as hell.

“Persimmons.”

“Really? That’s a weird one.”

“No, not really. I just tell people I’m allergic so they never try to put a persimmon anywhere near me because they are that fucking nasty.”

Laughing again, this time at the venom directed at a fruit, still without a hint of a grin. This surely wasn’t normal. I mean, I’d seen _Pretty Woman_ , yeah, but prostitutes don’t sit around feeding cake to their customers in real life, do they? Well, I suppose someone somewhere had a kink that required such a thing.

“What else?”

He held up another bite. I could get used to this. Maybe if I really worked at it I could get a lucrative career and afford this kind of treatment. Better yet, just get a boyfriend like this, strong and witty but with a very cuddly side.

“What do you mean?”

“Tell me about yourself?” Pressed this close, I could feel the sudden tension. “I don’t mean to pry, just little stuff, like your irrational hatred for persimmons. Probably should talk to someone about that, you know. That kind of negativity is bad for the soul. I myself am indifferent to most varieties of fruit. Those peaches look pretty good though.”

Immediately, the next bite of cake was dropped, the yet unused second fork spearing a peach slice instead and offering.

“God, you're adorable.”

There was a reaction, a low chuckle and a smirk as he looked over his shoulder, watching avidly as I pulled the peach off the fork with my teeth.

“What’s your opinion on watermelon? Because I have to warn you, I’m leaving if you don’t say you love it.”

“Best thing ever. Like I dream about it, spend my days writing haiku on the perfection and sweetness that is watermelon.”

“You . . . are an idiot.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Mood light-hearted again, privacy of a business transaction reestablished, I ate what I was given, drank whenever he decided to reach over to the nightstand and hand me the wineglass, never a comment on being underage which would be hysterical all things considered, and chatted and teased a little. I yapped about my crazy dad and his crazier boyfriend, my amazing friends, my perfect little monsters . . . er, sisters, and talked about things I enjoyed like running, gaming, and real get-lost-in-the-woods camping. Casually, without asking any direct questions, I managed to tease quite a lot of information out of him. Like how he liked getting lost, too, preferred winter over summer, rain over sunshine, herb gardens over flowers, wanted dogs but was adopted by an opinionated stray cat, and was a very early riser. My big mouth ruined it again when the plates were mostly empty, one bite for me, one for him, the meal getting a little cold with our leisurely pace.

“I’m so not a morning person. But I drag myself out of bed, like to run before the streets get crowded. Doesn’t annoy your boyfriend, does it? A good morning cuddle is a wonderful thing.”

He was quiet for a minute, cutting another piece of beef filet and lifting it over his shoulder. The tension was subtler this time, and as I leaned forward to be fed I saw his eyes staring down at the plate, jaw clenched. Stupid. He’d made it clear not to get personal and I’d tacitly agreed. Couldn’t get more personal than delving into his love life, even if we’d just had an awful lot of sex. That was business.

“Strange that you’d assume I have a boyfriend.”

That wasn’t what I expected.

“Someone like you can't be single, it's a law of nature. Girlfriend, then? Wife, husband, polyamorous harem? You don’t have kids, do you? I mean, I guess that’s fine, I don’t judge or anything, but that would creep me out a bit. I mean, I’d get over it, just, you know, getting all hot with someone’s dad, kinda a new thought for me. I want kids, at least two. So I guess I'd better get used to the idea of making out with someone's dad. Just, well, in the future sometime.”

His body twisted to stare at me as I bumbled, still expressionless and so close I could feel his words.

“I meant, do you generally think professional sex-workers have significant others?”

“Well, why not? I'd date you in a heartbeat. Guess some asshats would get jealous, but not everyone is like that. And your agency sure does its job on the medical screening so your lover wouldn't have to worry about STIs. I don’t even know what half the things I got tested for are.”

He blinked, slow and thoughtful as I held my breath, waiting for anger or just distance. There was a small clatter as he dropped the fork, a bigger clatter as he nearly upended the tray, twisting back quickly and moving away, out of my arms. I barely resisted the urge to smack myself on the forehead as he scooted down the bed and got up with tray in hand. He didn't say a word, didn't look at me, just took the tray and I heard the door and the sounds of him putting the mess out in the hall.

I sat, solemn and trying to figure out what to say to bring back the quiet ease between us, stretching my legs cramped from being willingly used as a warm frame for his magnificent body. Then he was walking back to me, stopping beside the bed, as close to me as he could get. I still couldn’t read his face, but the tug on the cloth belt, the pushing of the robe off his straight shoulders to fall to the ground, the almost full erection pointing at me told me enough. I couldn’t believe my luck. He didn’t have to do this, didn’t have to stay. But he obviously wanted to; genuine arousal was really hard for a male to fake. Trust me, I’ve tried.

He stood still at the edge of the bed, allowing me to brush my hand down his arm and back up from hip to ribs, eyes memorizing every bit of him to keep this image for as long as possible, lithe muscles, strong and smooth arms, narrow waist, such graceful legs, blushing cock nearly as long as my own, a bit more lean like the rest of him.

“So lovely. It isn't fair that you're a genius, too.”

A slight twitch of lips and the high arching of a brow, white above black lashes. His eyebrows were long and thin, like gull's wings above the oceanic eyes. There was only the faintest hint of stubble on his chin, I knew from rubbing it against my cheek, smooth from my indulgent spa day just for him. It occurred to me then, his legs were shaved. Pubic hair merely trimmed, silver silk I had tasted on his balls, on his lower stomach. None on his chest, none under his arms. Arms and legs bare. Something tickled, a memory just out of reach, swept away when he stepped forward, knee pressing into the mattress as he moved to straddle me again, molding that svelte smoothness into me and erasing every thought.

Warm hands framed my face, the sudden impact of his lips a delight. A second later my wide eyes closed, and my world was full of the taste of him, rich red wine and pepper and chocolate. His aggression faded as we took a quick breath, coming back together more gently, lips grabbing and caressing and it seemed so natural, so easy compared to the way I used to kiss Orihime, guiding her and thinking the entire time, was this right, a little more pressure or less, should I use tongue? None of that confusion, just the sensual licking and sucking that was like nothing else I'd ever known, arousing and comforting, familiar and new.

Kneeling in my lap made him quite a bit taller than me, my hands massaging his waist, his knees pressing the headboard, my neck stretched back to meet his lips above me. He caught my tongue and sucked on it harshly, pulling a moan out of me, pulling my heart right into my throat until the stupid words ' _I love you_ ' very nearly escaped me in a moment of complete insanity.

Of course, I didn't love him. I barely knew him. Even his name was probably a lie. But it was oh, so easy to fantasize with the weight of him pressing me down and back, the heat of him making my heart race. To think, I had once, quite recently if memory served, disparaged any pervert who would hire a prostitute. Now I'd happily sell my left nut to get another hour with him. On second thought, I wouldn't last through that hour without my left nut.

Parting with a wet sucking sound I found incredibly beautiful, he stared down into my eyes. I wished I could read people the way Yuzu or Rukia could, wished I could see more than just the physical desire that was quite evident.

“You are such a wonder, Ichigo. Precious and rare as a treasure amidst ruins.”

He was kissing me again before I had a chance to ask what he meant, and I quickly began to wonder. Flattery, maybe, compliments to please and charm. Why was I being so negative? Because I wanted to believe the fantasy. I wanted to trust the illusion of honesty and the admiration in his voice. Well, why shouldn't I? It was part of the experience, the enchantment woven for a high price. Probably, even staying the night was part of it. Sell a few hours, then make the client feel very special, like you just can't leave. It was the point, right? Build my confidence with a sure thing and some positive feedback.

“What is it? What's wrong?”

My hands slid around him, pressing into the small of his back and the top of his perky ass. For the past hour I had been at least a bit hard, what with my entire body wrapped around him while he fed me. Now he could feel it, quite erect thanks to the variety of perfect kisses and the firmness pressing into my belly. I banished useless angst, thinking it was incredibly selfish to discard all he was giving me just because I couldn't have more.

“Nothing's wrong at all,” I pressed my tongue into the divot at the base of his throat, licking up his neck and then nipping lightly at his jaw, wishing I didn't have to hold back for fear of leaving a mark.

“Alright.”

He sighed, not fooled at all going by the deep furrowing of his brow. I seemed to keep finding ways to ruin this.

“Just feeling a little greedy, is all. I’m over it.”

A couple of firm kisses were delivered to my very greedy lips. He was wise not to ask, 'Greedy for what?' As honestly as he could talk about sex, he was irrationally skittish whenever words got personal.

“That’s alright, precious. Human nature.”

Long fingers slid back through my hair, a petting gesture to soothe. I had already stopped worrying; ignoring my own emotions was one thing I was very, very good at. Lust and disbelief at my own good fortune to find him willing to play again came to fill the blank spaces, quickly taking over my senses. He felt so good, and my hands could feel how he couldn't quite stay still, back flexing while hips stayed almost motionless. That had to change.

Rolling my hips up as I tightened my grip on him, I heard a satisfying moan that hardened my cock even more. I repeated the movement a few more times, molesting his ear with my tongue, loving the way he clutched at my shoulder and my hair. Debating, should I stay here or pin him to the bed? I started to move, leaning into him intending to lay him down, but his hands stopped me, pushing my chest and I didn’t fight it, shoulders hitting the headboard again. He sat back on my thighs, hands sliding down to untie my robe and push it open.

“Stay.” I raised my brows, tempted to be defiant. “Forgive me, but I’m still a bit sore from this beast,” defiance fled as a talented hand wrapped possessively around my dick, “so we’ll enjoy ourselves another way.”

Okay, I guessed I could put up with whatever he had planned; I mean, it would be a hardship but if it made him happy it was worth it. I hissed as he squeezed the head of my cock, light fingertips dancing over it when he let go, making everything tingle and jump to his touch. My hands ran up and down his legs, marveling at how all the attention of this beautiful man was solely on me.

Strange thoughts occurred to me, probably delusions brought on by too much pleasure when his fingers teasingly traced a bead of fluid leaking down, feather-light touches swirling the stuff around my shaft. What kind of prostitute got sore after a few rounds of sex? An exclusive one, I supposed. If you were paid well enough, you probably didn’t have to work every night. Then, too, he was exactly what I ordered, not a stereotypical bottom. Maybe this was very rare for him, normally the dominant one. He certainly could take control. The agency had taken my request and sent me a man who really preferred fucking to getting fucked. Hell, maybe he usually was an ‘escort’ for women. That would certainly explain how tight he was. Not that I had a ton of, or any, experience, but I did understand the physiology.

And yet he had willingly let me have him, enthusiastically, lustfully, perfectly. Was it a crazy idea, or . . .?

“Ah! Toshiro, oh, that’s good!”

He was bruising the side of my neck, no rule against marking clients I guess, the action in keeping with the line of my thoughts. It was hard to concentrate when the delicate touches below became little taps, his fingertips, some stroking, some drumming up and down. A moment of insanity, that's what I'd blame it on. Insanity brought on by the maddeningly unpredictable way he handled my flesh.

“Hey,” I moved my hands up to his shoulders, not pushing but just to get his attention.

“What do you want, Ichigo? What can I give you?”

I shivered, his deep voice right in my ear, resonating in my head, giving me courage to give in to lust.

“Do you . . . would you want to fuck me?”

Immediately, I regretted it as he went perfectly still. I heard the strangled groan leave my throat, felt my hips shift seeking continued contact, and stared as his head slowly drew back. Oh, that smile! Not the teasing smirk. Not the genuine but faint curve I had so admired. This one was like starlight, cool fire shining and mysterious, lighting up his already glowing eyes, captivating the imagination and heart. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but grin like a lunatic.

Oh fuck, I was in serious trouble.

He held my chin in one hand, the other twisting a handful of my robe and dragging it off my shoulders as he pressed close. The simultaneous return of his hot tongue from the domineering position above me and the jolt of intense pleasure as his erection ground into mine had me whining, falling wholeheartedly into the role I had just assigned myself.

God, I loved fucking him, loved the pulsing, tight warmth wrapped around my dick, loved the feeling of being responsible for his pleasure, loved watching the pale skin flush pink and red before being painted in streaks of opalescent white. But this was astonishingly good, dizzying heat not just from the closeness but from the change in him. More than when he first took control, pinning and riding me, more than the confidence and near aggression of that glorious blowjob, now he radiated power. And I loved it, tried to lap it up off his twisting tongue and soak it in from the thin layer of silky skin over working muscles.

At some point, my arms had slipped over his shoulders, wrapping around his neck. That kept him close as he pulled back again, letting me pant for air as I drifted in the depths of sea-green eyes.

“You are very sweet and brave to offer. But you do not have to do this. Many male couples rarely or never have penetrative sex, you know. I can enjoy you quite well without taking that from you.”

I snorted, making him raise a brow again.

“Well, I’m rather disappointed in the service. Aren’t you supposed to do what I want? What’s all this about _your_ enjoyment? This is my birthday present, not yours.”

“Disappointed?” He flexed his entire body, rolling against me hips first, I tried really hard to not moan but failed spectacularly. “You break my heart. But think on it, Ichigo. Do you not want to wait for someone you really feel for?”

I’d never understood it, even if I had used the excuse of 'making it special' to tell Orihime why I was fine waiting. Save yourself for someone? I’d already had sex with two people, what did the position matter? It wasn’t like I was some medieval princess, examined for virginity before being sold off to some slut of a husband who could fuck around without consequences while I would get my head chopped off for looking at someone wrong. Right?

“At the risk of seeing you get up and run out the door, I can’t imagine anyone I’d rather have be my first man . . . both ways. I want to enjoy it, want someone who knows what the fuck he’s doing and will make it amazing. I want to remember it for the rest of my life, like I'll remember every minute with you. Now, can you deliver, or should I call your boss and have them send someone to help me out?”

Those unforgettable eyes widened as I spoke, and then . . . I had thought his smile was a revelation. It wasn't a sarcastic scoff, or a soft, quiet chuckle. Serious and reserved, I never would have dreamed he could laugh like that, the ringing of authentic surprise and pure enjoyment, smooth baritone breaking to bright tenor as white teeth flashed. It didn't last nearly long enough, but the series of passionate kisses through smiling lips was a fine consolation. I put everything I had into returning the glorious kisses, shoving his tongue back to take my taste of him, returning the bruising of lips with playful nips, a give and take that he enjoyed as much as I did.

When he broke off, tugging my hair back and searching my eyes again, I cooperated even though I found myself quite eager to get on with it. The grip on my hair loosened, massaging touches on my scalp that were pleasant enough, but I would rather feel them elsewhere.

“You can change your mind at any time, you understand? I'll stop at a word, and I would rather die than hurt you.”

“Thanks to you, I know what I'm in for. I saw your face, heard your voice. I want to know what that feels like.” I shoved my hips up, watching his eyelids flutter, hearing his breath hitch. “So, stop treating me like a damned girl.”

With the strength that had taken me by surprise before, he slid back and pulled my hips, yanking me down the bed. Luckily, I tensed and tried to sit forward as he did it, or I might have gotten a concussion. He pounced the second I was more or less flat, once more straddling my pelvis, my cock rubbing his ass. This was going to give me the wrong ideas really soon.

He bent all the way down, the heat of his thighs, dampness on my stomach as his hard length tapped on my skin, pure torture. Maybe I shouldn't. He could take another good fucking; it was his job and he obviously liked it. And I needed it, needed it badly, almost sick with the effort not to cum at the pressing of his tailbone against my leaking head. My hands gripped his hips, ready to roll him to the side. Then his tongue was swiping across my lips and I tried to catch it instead.

“I'm not treating you like a girl, Ichigo.” His pelvis slid down, grinding my throbbing dick down as I squirmed. “I'm treating you like my lover.”

His teeth grabbed my collarbone, somehow not hurting, not biting but teasing, scraping, tongue following to change the sensation from sharp to soft. Blunt nails skimmed lines up my ribs, slightly stinging then caressing. Lower, he kept moving, kisses with a hint of suction, swirls of tongue from one shoulder down and across toward the opposite side of my chest. Worse, he was slithering like a slow, heavy serpent, hips side to side, lower and lower, absolute fucking torture against my trapped prick forced down and squished, my legs struggling open to give some relief though I couldn't escape the feel of it swelling and dragging down the cleft of his ass.

“Nnng . . . hah! Fuck, To . . shi . . . hnn . . . please, sto . . .”

No! Can't say that. He'd actually stop if I said that. I groaned like a dying man, lost in how fast this had happened, how close I was to bliss. No doubt, I was right. He was born to be in control. Distantly, I noticed my hands clutching at his sides, kneading like a cat as I started to shake, shifting under him and pressing my ass into the mattress to get away from the delicious pressure and horrible friction. No use. I could feel it all, his hot sack wrapping around the base of me while my cock desperately tried to straighten, to push up as he shimmied lower, tight channel between his legs spread wide but still pinching and grinding with each shift.

Losing my mind, hoarse shouts and frustrated whines and god he was sucking on my chest, flicking the nipple with tongue hot and wet. The weight of him pushing down, always moving, shifting lower, and _fuck me_ , grinding down as he scooted back up enough for his cock and balls to pull the barely damp and sticky skin, bending my dick the other way and god, I might have clawed open his back when he reversed, pressing me down again.

Then, unthinkable horror and ecstasy, he was gone, weight lifted off me in one fluid movement onto his knees, and the relief and agony as my erection sprang free so fast that it hit my stomach sent me reeling, a brief scream of delight and I might have lost consciousness for a second or five while my body convulsed around the searing bright center of delirious pleasure.

There was warmth, all around me but particularly above me as I basked in trembling euphoria. Reality was very slow to return, starting with an idle ranking of orgasms. That one was almost as good as when I took him from behind. But different. Could they even be compared? How in sweet hell had he thought of doing something like that? Was he a sadist? Not sure if I cared, I was still high. Him who? Ah, yes, bright eyes and pale skin and hair like fresh snow. So different.

And he was, what? My eyes blinked open, body rather insubstantial at the moment. Yes, there he was. Licking me. Long, slow licks, a porn star with an ice cream cone. Only that wasn't ice cream. Oh. _Ohhh_ , that was sexy.

“Nnmmnn.”

His tongue was working quite well. Why wouldn't mine?

“You . . .”

Flash of teal, another lick, creamy white on red, red tongue exposed deliberately before being curled in, leaving a glistening track on upper lip. _Good fucking god_.

“Bastard. Not . . . fucking fair . . . oh, dammit.”

How embarrassing, cumming in what, three minutes? Admittedly, he'd gotten me worked up quite a bit before dragging me down the bed like a cat dragging a carcass. Wait, that wasn't sexy at all.

“Gahhhhd!”

You know that feeling when you've been jerking off for what seems like weeks thanks to the mental and physical hell that is puberty, and then your stupid hormone-addled body insists you do it the fuck again only your dick is practically raw and just touching it makes you want to scream but you do it anyway because you're a nasty, randy little shit that can't do anything else but what Mother Fucking Nature forces you to do for her own sick amusement?

Yeah, it was like that, the insistent lapping of that tongue pushing the skin of my too sensitive cock up and then digging around in the folds to clean it, as determined as a cat cleaning kittens. Why the hell did all my analogies involve cats? My hands smacked at his shoulders, batted his head, weakly but still it earned me a glare and a second of relief.

“Toshiro, fuck! I can't take it!”

“A lesson, precious. Orgasm relaxes the muscles, makes it easier to prep your partner.”

I could barely gasp at the feeling of slick warmth and something pushing at my asshole. When had he gotten the lube? For that matter, when had he gotten between my legs and spread them out? Must have been while I was passed out with a teal-eyed god of sex licking cum off my chest.

“Also, it's easier on both parties if this is done from the back. So, over you go now.”

He'd grabbed a pillow and put it beside me, moved his legs out of my way, and pushed my hips before my sluggish body and traitorous brain even registered the words. And what was with that tone? Sounded like my third-grade teacher. _Ew! Not, not, not_ thinking of any teachers!

I only resisted for a second until he looked at me intently, searching for a signal to back off. That was so not happening, so I rolled over willingly.

“You're an arrogant little shit.”

I don't know why I said it. He wasn't little, anyway, but for some reason it sounded utterly appropriate. I heard a faint snicker before I drowned it out with the sound with my own moan, his hands going straight to groping, half of my ass in each palm as he pushed and released in a gentle circling massage. It wasn't that it felt that great, I mean, it was nice and all, but the meaning, the foreshadowing, that's what made me start getting dizzy again.

“Mmm, that's my good boy.”

“Fuck off!”

Bringing my arms in, I folded them under my chest, propping myself up a little to reduce the suffocating heat of heavy breath in blankets. My head dropped down anyway when that wicked tongue found my tailbone and started trailing up, pausing every so often for an open-mouthed kiss. His hands slid down, feeling large and long as they twisted to trail fingers along the curve at the top of my thighs, then down, twisting the other way for fingers to pry at the insides of legs.

When I didn't move, it wasn't because I didn't want to continue, but because signals from my brain simply weren't reaching anyplace other than my cock, swelling again against the yielding softness of the pillow. But he didn't know that, and his hands softened, a gentle kiss alighting between my shoulder blades.

“Is that enough, Ichigo? Shall we get some sleep now?”

How could he?

“Don't you dare.” I growled, meaning to say 'Don't you dare stop' but the word stop was banished from my vocabulary.

He sighed against my back, making my skin shiver. The pause and the false anger gave me back a little self-command, and I slid my knees up and apart, the pillow helping. Not all the way up on hands and knees, but definitely presented, a blushing mess of a feast for his eyes. I thought I had understood the surrender and trust required, thought I had appreciated it fully when Toshiro pulled his knees up to his chest for me, or when he glanced back over his shoulder and the graceful bow of his back. Not until now did I really get it.

He got it. He moved so deliberately, each touch measured and firm, the slow tenderness a contrast to the rapid climax of only minutes ago. I didn’t look back, couldn’t do much more than tremble and pant, but I could feel him everywhere, hands petting my thighs, buttocks, hips while lips explored all over my back, shoulders, down to the sides of my ribs intent on tasting every bit of me. My mind couldn’t decide whether to sink into the fiery touches in drowsy content, or to stay coiled in trepidation of what was to come. So, it drifted, half aware, and I didn’t even flinch when the touches drifted inward, tickling and stroking that strip of skin and ghosting over the hole I couldn’t help but clench and oh, that felt nice!

Yes, before you ask, I had a tiny bit of self-provided experience. Once I figured out that I liked guys, I had, well, tried to play with myself a bit. It wasn’t pleasant. I didn’t get a dildo or anything, get your minds out of the gutter, but I did try fingering myself, and I was smart enough to use lotion. Still wasn’t pleasant. I guess I hadn’t tried hard enough, because nothing ever happened to cause that heart-stopping reaction I’d gotten from Toshiro when he told me just where to touch, and from there I’d touched that spot an awful lot, getting all kinds of noises and movements that would live in my head for eternity. Hell, just playing with him before that had him writhing, and I’d never experienced that with my own fingers, just vague curiosity, mild disgust, and disappointment. At the time, I figured that meant I was going to prefer being a top and moved on.

Cool and slick, warming as he circled, knuckle tracing over and down to return with a little pressure again and again, and I realized he was taking the time for my benefit, watching me, waiting for me to stop holding my breath. I made myself focus on the gentle caress of his other hand at the small of my back, the contact of his legs on the insides of mine, the barely audible fast breaths that told of his arousal. My own overworked cock started to slowly perk up again, the thought of him staring at me, loving the sight and feel of me was slowly making my dick stiffen, distracting me enough to relax with a little sigh.

It wasn’t . . . unpleasant, exactly, the pushing and sudden give and immediately he withdrew and repeated with a tiny change in angle, a tiny increase in depth. It was like nothing, surprisingly, and fear that I had denied subsided when it didn’t hurt or feel repulsive. The renewal of kisses, this time right on the ass he was molesting, that was far more enjoyable and erotic. It wasn’t until I could feel him reaching deeper, with slight twists and flexes, that the sensations started taking more of my attention.

Good? Yes, it felt good. The skin back there, which he still caressed with his other fingertips, was a lot more sensitive than I'd ever imagined. The pushing feeling was okay, weird but sometimes kinda pleasant, and the in and out sliding, that was nice, though I tried not to think about it too much. He’d been murmuring soft words between kisses and brushing his cheek against my skin, only the soothing tone sinking in, gaining more attention as I could hear his excitement start to seep into the words of praise.

Unconsciously, I wriggled my hips, finding the contact too light, trying to get a little more, briefly surprising myself. He took it as an invitation, and perhaps it was, one finger withdrawing, two pushing in, even more slippery and not at all unpleasant even with the twinge of muscles clenching against the invasion. I could feel it a lot more clearly, the heat and friction inside, vague and strange pressures that I knew from my own exploration of his body meant that he was starting to work on stretching me . . . for his cock . . . in my ass. Oh, the shameless sound that hummed its way up through my throat at the very thought!

“Ichigo,” my name an answering moan, “Precious, so hot, so perfect.”

Treating me like a girl again, the bastard. Worse, I ate it up with a lust-drunk grin on my face, pushing my hips up like a two-dollar wh . . . no, that wasn’t fair or right. Another word to leave my vocabulary permanently.

“Oh, angel. Do you have any idea how splendid you are?”

With every intention of driving him as crazy as he drove me, I panted as I twisted my shoulder and looked back at him, knowing what that had done to me, his glazed eyes, pleading.

He groaned and surged forward, making me yelp at the force of his fingers plunging deep, the weight of him rocking me and blanketing my back with his wet, hard length sliding up my spine right above the hand that was inside me, free hand pulling firmly on my hair so that he could reach my lips with his. Holy fuck, it was every bit as confusing and amazing as the insane way he had shoved me through orgasm before. I wasn’t used to this; how could I be? But my body told me to let myself soften, let his hard form meld into me, let his tongue dominate my mouth. I defied it a bit by nipping that smooth muscle, maybe needing to feel just a little less like a begging bitch.

Then everything changed, his mouth leaving me to fight for air, silken skin sliding. And with the movement back, the fingers that were the deepest they had been began to withdraw, and I could feel the pressure of the tips curling, pushing down as they dragged, the moment I’d been waiting for when it was proven that my anatomy was no different, the bliss I had seen in his face attainable.

“Ahh YEAH! Yes . . . that . . . do that!”

He did, oh, he fucking did as I thrust my very pleased erection into the pillow and then flexed back up toward his hand, seeking more. Instead, I got nothing, fingers moving away from that spot, parting wide and the ache this time wasn’t painful at all, nerves buzzing and making the strangeness turn into a burning pleasure. Good thing I had given up after a few halfhearted attempts. If I’d gotten results like that, I would probably still be in my bedroom masturbating. And that would be a good thing, because his fingers were gone.

“What? Hey!”

Sinister, dark that chuckle. To continue the theme, the satisfaction of the cat that not only got the cream but drowned the canary in it. One hand stroked down my spine as he leaned close again to press a kiss to the back of my neck and whispered low and sultry.

“Next lesson. Once you have your partner at your mercy, try not to give in to temptation and let them cum again. Men are greedy and selfish and will take pleasure where they can. So, you must make him wait, make him long for you . . . like you did to me.”

Well, I was already to that point, wasn’t I? And was that just a false compliment? I didn’t think so, I did have him so desperate that he had to take over just to get my dick in him. I was whining again, memories making reality that much harder to deal with. As he pushed on me I didn’t hesitate for a second this time to flop onto my back as directed. Good, that was good. I wanted to see him when . . .

“Gah, fuck! Ow!”

Three was definitely a big change from two. Good god, how had he taken it so easily, downright eagerly? Just experience, I figured, wincing as he paused, then pushed in a little more, pausing again. My erection had died down just a bit, and how I hoped he wouldn’t lecture me about that. I got it, the whole ‘push them to the edge and then pull them back’ thing. But damn, it hurt. I waited, focused on relaxing again, watching him, memorizing again the beauty of his skin, his face, knowing it would get better as it had each step along the way. And it did, the sting eventually fading with each internal caress, fading into the now familiar ache as he worked me open.

Warmth closed on my left nipple. Though I wished he’d decided to suck something else, I did find my hands in white softness, holding him firm, tugging sharply, forcing him up and bringing him to my lips. Yes, that was what I needed, the taste of him, the feel of slick heat above and below, and I twisted my tongue around his as he twisted his fingers within, and it was suddenly marvelous again. Pulling him closer reunited my cock with the lovely, blushing length of him, and his body stilled while his mouth became more forceful, tongue fighting mine back as we both groaned.

When he broke away, hand on my chest forcing us apart, I was nearly dying with lust. Every part of me ached now, not just the muscle twitching around him or the skin begging for more petting, but everything. I wanted his body in my arms, his eyes filling my sight, his legs twined with mine, Toshiro on me, in me, under me, irrevocably a part of me, storms of need and bliss forever keeping us joined.

“There. There you are, my angel.”

I had drawn my knees up, not even knowing it, and tried to clamp onto him as he moved back, hand withdrawing, and now it almost hurt to be left empty. I’d had no idea, not really, even while he writhed under me or danced on top of me, no idea how it felt to be the one waiting. My jaw clenched against another needy whine as I lifted my head enough to see him, on his knees between my thighs. Clever bastard had all the supplies ready to go, toweling off his hand to handle the condom, lube within easy reach.

“Toshiro.”

Breathless, but he heard me, immediately focusing on me and bending closer, hand caressing my cheek and I raised my hand to it. I could see the concern in his eyes, for he was perfectly controlled under the thick layer of desire. He would still stop if I said the word.

“I want you . . . all of you.”

“And you shall have me, precious, any way you want me.”

What a man, to say that and mean it. If I asked, even though he had requested not to be fucked, even after all the anticipation and preparation, he would still spread his legs and let me take him again, gladly, without hesitation or resentment. I was not desperate to have him fuck me just because he had me sick with lust; I could not imagine ever finding another man, another human being I wanted this much. I drew a steadying breath and smiled.

“And how do you want me?”

Even if I ended up in pain and hated every second, all worth it for a second chance to see that enchanting smile, gone too soon again, this time to lay quick, devouring kisses on my chest, on my ribs, on my stomach, on my hips.

“Just like this,” he whispered into my navel. “Just like this.”

My squirming stopped when he kissed a line from head to base, sucking along my shaft and nearly making me scream, not much relief as he gave tight balls the same attention, then to my thighs that spread wider, allowing him to burrow his nose in right at the base of my throbbing cock, hands lifting me, pulling me apart in more ways than one. A hot, sucking kiss at the sensitive skin, lifting me more.

“Oh, god, don't!”

Should I twist out of his grip? Too late, my lecherous body putting weight on my heels and lifting myself for him. How filthy, those perfect lips slick with the lube all over me, hot against the flinching skin covering loosened muscle, and the long, deep hum as he moved back, licking his lips loudly, lifting his face so I could see the enjoyment, the glistening satisfaction on his face. Thank god he didn’t do more, didn’t try to lick inside. I don’t know what I would have done, begged for it or jumped off the bed and locked myself in the bathroom until dawn.

With a groan I let my hips fall, refusing to give in to the urge to reach for my own arousal while he continued where he'd left off, sheathing velvet in latex. Though I wanted to, I could not sit up and take over as he had that first time, so delightful that had been, so powerful it had made me feel, the one I was about to fuck slicking my cock, providing me with the means to give him pleasure.

He moved slowly, giving me time that I didn't want, but I couldn't deny I needed it. Deep breaths to calm down, hands clenching fistfuls of cotton. Gently, he stroked the outside of my thigh, avoiding sensitive areas though his touch was provocative no matter where his hand lingered, gaze even more alluring as I met his eyes, hopefully projecting more confidence than I felt.

“Are you okay, Ichigo?”

He really didn’t expect another derisive snort. A little breathless maybe, but I managed full sentences just to taunt him.

“What was it you said? Oh yeah, 'for the love of god, fuck me.' Blasphemer.”

I was starting to love surprising him, getting those strange little smiles and raised brows like he was so fucking amused that I didn’t behave the way he expected when surely he had seen every reaction a man could have. My smile wasn’t fake, though, trepidation not enough to conquer the fact that I wanted him in too many ways and was happier than I could remember being in . . . ever.

No, it wasn’t just sexual satisfaction, perverts. Though, really, there had been plenty of that, and of such quality that it hurt to think this might be the best night of my life. Yep, eighteen and sex was all downhill from here. It was the weight gone from my chest, the weight I had been oblivious to, then denied and tried to ignore. It never would have worked, as much as I adored Orihime and even though I enjoyed sex with her. I would have gone through the rest of my life with that burden slowly crushing me, that denial of a vital part of my own identity. Not anymore.

I knew it was naïve, an emotional reaction that logic would dismantle come sunrise, but at the moment I could not help but give all the credit to Toshiro. He had lifted that weight as if it were a feather, discarded it and set me free by showing me the truth of my own soul. One elegant hand brushed across my midriff and pressed into the bed, forearm between my ribs and elbow. As he leaned forward I bent my arm, seeking that hand with my own, laying my fingers atop his, eyes locked to his. How damned romantic.

This was it, last chance to back down. Every lean muscle in his body was tense, holding his weight above me at an awkward angle so that I need do nothing but remain comfortable. My attempt to push my hips higher was thwarted by his body and the arm stretched down between us, guiding the terrifyingly large firmness to press against the very part of me that he had been working so hard to make intolerably sensitive. I tried to push up again, in lust and in need, denied again as he smiled so gently, so deviously.

“Fine! Do whatever you want.”

“I do so love it when you say that.”

My mouth opened to snap back and gasped instead. My eyes closed tight, head stretching back, fingers clutching at his hand. Was he saying 'Relax, relax' or was I chanting it in my head? Either way, that's what I needed to do, breathe and remember what exactly was happening. Forcing my eyes open, I looked for him, saw him watching me through fluttering, long, black lashes, so far away and yet so close.

What could I do but smile for him, give him what I could in thanks? It didn't hurt. Okay, it hurt, but not unreasonably, just pressure and ache and burn to another degree, another step, and already easing into pleasure. I knew what he was feeling, that same ache, tighter than a woman, not easy, that fight at the beginning was painfully blissful. Now I knew that it felt the same to be taken, so different and yet the same, and I stopped trying to brace against it.

Everything eased as I let tension seep out of me, replaced by the warm stretch, the sudden jolt when the wide head passed the ring of muscle, making me clench a little and making him groan. The heartbeat pause seemed to last forever, and I wondered if I looked as beautiful as he did when he was splayed under me, face contorted in pleasure and panting body starting to sweat.

My free hand let go of blankets and reached for him, his face too far from me but the lovely, alabaster lines of his ribs so inviting. The stroking of my fingers made his glazed eyes focus on mine, and the muscle under my hand flexed with effort like the rest of him, slowly, steadily, inexorably pushing farther in. Then the twinge of pain, building as he went deeper, and I couldn’t help but wince and push against his ribs even after he halted.

“Look at me.”

Were my eyes closed? Was I making that noise, keening pants in contrast to the deep groan when I realized it? Oh, he was . . . I could feel it, every inch, my thighs pressed farther apart to accommodate the warmth of his body pressed to me. And oh, god, the tiny shift as he leaned down. I saw his eyes, swirling with lust but so focused on me, and was there anything as beautiful under Heaven? I think I grinned like a lovestruck teenager. I think I might be a lovestruck teenager.

That was stupid, sucking in air through my open mouth like that, that hurt. Not like the feeling inside, withdrawal of the fullness just as aching as when he was pushing forward. It felt like getting fucked, but my eyes told me he was barely moving, skin breaking out in sweat with the effort to slowly undulate above me, gentle in and out of only an inch or two and it hurt, then it ached, then it throbbed like my goddamned dick which, by the way, was getting teased by that slow up and down and forward and back dragging on his silky skin sopping wet with my lust.

“Ohhhh . . . oh, my . . . Toshiroooo . . . mmm.”

I wasn't the only one, mind you. My personal sex-ed teacher was making the most delicious noise, like 'Haaah' but deep with a hint of a growl at the end of every concentrated breath, physical exertion and almost unbearable pleasure, his fascinating eyelashes shivering with tiny winces making bright eyes shimmer. He was a wreck and I loved it, knowing that it was only so difficult because he was trying so hard, so, so hard to make this the best it could be. For me. I wanted to see him come completely undone in a new way.

“Ichigo,” he didn't stop moving, but once more focused completely on me, “you okay?”

God, such a mother hen. He'd probably still stop. A new feeling was derailing my brain, something like an itch, no a soreness that you just can't help but rub, the way you'd massage a spent muscle or mercilessly tongue an aching tooth. And it was focused in a place I never expected to feel it, and I knew just what to use to scratch it.

“You . . . ah! Mmm . . . you . . . please . . .”

Reduced to the vocabulary of a two-year-old, the hand holding his side grasped at his lower back and tried to pull, fingers digging into bunched muscle the way I desperately wanted his cock to dig into me. Nonverbal communication effective. He groaned as he pulled back much farther and I fucking squirmed at the partial relief and the need, the goddamn need for something more . . . more.

“Ahh! Yeah . . . fuck!”

That full thrust was the most amazing thing I'd felt since doing it to him. Couldn't compare the two, had to have more . . . maybe if I clawed his back again, maybe it was like an on-switch to get more. He hissed when I clutched at him again, but hell, it worked.

I held on to him, fingers trying to crush his in one hand, trying to pet and ending up bruising with the other hand, and lost sight of everything as he set a rhythm of thrusting into me, satisfying that need for friction and impact while simultaneously causing a new and familiar vortex of tension and want in the rest of me, centered between his cock and mine. As for that, the way he leaned even closer created more rubbing, more shoving, more slapping, and it was divine, divine.

Before I new what I was doing, I had pulled both my knees higher, ankles finding the working muscles above his knees a very good place to dig in, while the rest of me screamed in delight, the shift of my pelvis bringing even more contact, more pressure . . .

“Yes! God, more . . . Shiro, more!”

Suddenly it was hard to breathe, impossible to shout, and my eyes sprang open to meet his as he tried to pull my tongue out with his. So intent on the kiss, I didn't notice he'd slowed down, but each snap of his hips was more forceful. I cried out into his mouth, managing to suck in a breath when he smiled. Then I returned the kiss with more enthusiasm, not even breaking when I bit his tongue with the impact of the next harsh thrust pushing me, pushing the damp skin of my back across cotton, pushing the damp skin of his stomach across my impossibly tight balls and painful erection.

Weakly, I smacked at his ribs. Second or hours later he let go of my mouth, his eyes so close, impossibly beautiful and dark and I could see my reflection panting and red and good god were there tears in my eyes?

“I . . . s'good . . . I can't . . . hold . . .”

Explosions of breath, his and mine, hot and wet, both straining. I was going to cum any second, already dizzy with the expectation.

“Not yet . . . trust me . . . angel.”

“Nooo!”

He was out of me, the delicious sensation of his exit lost in the horror of emptiness when I was so close, the heat of him no longer pressed on my cock but still there, within reach, between my thighs. My legs tightened to bring him back, my fingers trying to keep his that had been entwined with mine all along and now yanked themselves out of my grasp. Then, I needed my hands free, arms bracing on the bed and he pried apart my legs enough to slide them up high, his knees coming closer and lifting me off the bed. Good thing I was fit.

He smirked as he turned his head and kissed the inside of my right knee, teasing as I had teased him, and I considered smacking his head with my other knee, but was thoroughly distracted by the overall sight. My body was glistening bronze, muscles folded along my abdomen with the curve up to his shoulders, straight and strong. The darkness of me, the lightness of him, his skin even wetter and flushed, every line of him defined with the hard labor of fucking me into delirium. Speaking of hard, had my cock ever been that dark? The poor thing was practically purple, relief denied at the last minute.

And his cock, gorgeous thing hidden behind a veil of latex and . . . ew, not thinking about that, or how it was going back in me, a grunt as I was bent, my birthday gift leaning forward to align again. I got it now, this angle would have that flared head and the ridges and the veins and the skin, fuck, all grinding directly against the walls beside my prostate. It was going to be . . .. Unable to speak, I was moaning just lying there, well, bent and twisted there, anyway.

Then it was happening, steady and not too fast, pressing up as if he was calculating just where and when and he probably was, the arrogant bastard and

“AHHH! Ha . . . ha . . . shit.”

Which meant 'Holy fuck, you're good at this,' just a bit less articulate. Now he knew exactly where to aim, and all was lost. I felt completely out of control, almost weightless though I knew he was having to push hard against my legs that were tensing and pushing back, though I knew my abs were getting the workout of their life pulling my hips up to meet his thrusts. I didn't really feel any of that, or the tossing of my head side to side, or the twisting of blankets in my fists. No, all I really felt was the wondrous torture that made every nerve shiver to pieces, jolts of bliss in time with the pull and push, the sloppy sound of it joining his moans and my shouts and the creaking protests of the poor bed.

“Tosh . . . shir . . . rooo . . . I . . .”

Strong hand on my hip, clamping like a vice, slow drag out and I sucked in a breath just as slow, just as tortured as the rough, heavy breaths above. And then, oh then, fire and friction and that stab of ecstasy this time too much to take, breaking, shattering in a flood of sharp, glorious color and the high ringing sound of me screaming his name.

The feeling was distant, awash as I was in euphoria, the feeling of jerking against his hold, of my own cum landing in bursts on my chest. But so close, the feeling of continued in and out and more stabs of bliss to keep me high until he was the one convulsing and I tried to see it but couldn't, could only moan and enjoy the last of it as he chased his own release. Sight returned with the vision of his satisfied, perfect face, partly collapsing over me, catching his weight on one shaking arm.

I winced a little as sweaty legs slid off sweaty shoulders, feeling the strain of stretched tendon, tired muscle, and stressed spine. Three times taking him, one time getting thoroughly fucked into the mattress until I was a panting, sore, swollen mess . . . I was done. Couldn't possibly manage to do anything but puff air like I'd run a marathon and lie there, waiting for one of us to recover.

It was him, somehow, lifting his head and immediately seeking my eyes, expression softening when I smiled. So gently, he helped situate my legs, straightening them from the awkward sprawl, then petting my soiled stomach as he withdrew, smaller, softer length slipping easily but still making me gasp with the tingling of over-sensitivity. I closed my eyes, focusing on the aftershocks to fully appreciate every ounce of pleasure. He should do the same, but I didn't have the energy to demand it, just let him tend to yet another used condom, poor hotel maids, then giggled, yes giggled, when he caressed my leg and lifted it to bring a cool, wet rag, where the hell did that come from, to wipe me clean.

As for my chest, cooling and still heaving a little, it was treated to an even warmer tongue in long, firm strokes followed by humming swallows. I had to open my eyes for that sight, each swipe making me shiver again. Damn, he looked fine, still breathing deep and still a bit sweaty, but not completely devastated like I was. Hints of the price I would pay started to make themselves known, a twinge in my back, a cramp of that long tendon inside my thigh.

Only then it occurred to me, as I contemplated the control and composure he had managed through the entire night, he hadn't jerked me off like I had done for him when fucking him. Sure, there had been tons of stimulation, I'd been ready to cum when he'd barely started. And the way his body had rubbed hot silk all over me . . . but, still. I'd had two spectacular orgasms, and he didn't hurry me at all the second time, and he lasted through all of it.

“Goddamn, how long can you last?”

For some reason, that made him freeze for a second, then his expression was once more guarded.

“It's fucking amazing. You are . . . god, I don't even know what to say, except thank you.”

A slow return of warmth with a ghost of a smile, and he kissed away the last drop of stickiness, his hand gliding up my arm to my shoulder, to my neck, and I pushed my cheek into his hand as he sprawled up to lie on his side pressed close, leaning a little into me, head propped up to look down at me.

“You liked it, then?”

“You have to ask? Guess I'm not just a top.”

His thumb stroked my cheek. My hand between us came up to idly trace patterns on his chest. When I'd pictured the aftermath of my night of debauchery, cuddling hadn't been part of it. I figured we'd get as much sex in as we could in the allotted time, and then the hired professional would leave me to sleep it off alone. I was insanely happy to be wrong.

“The best partners aren't just one or the other, in my humble opinion. I suppose that works for some. Drink some water. Lots of it.”

And he was rolling away from me before I could ask him what he preferred, outside of work. Suppose I could still ask, but I was distracted my him walking naked over to the mini-fridge, bending over, _naked_ , to get two bottles, and then turning, _still very much naked_ , to toss me one. Fuck, I'd had my cock down his throat, done my best to swallow his cock, taken him three times, gotten fucked by him once, and I still couldn't tear my eyes off him.

Distracting myself with water, feeling at least a little more awake, I rolled out of bed myself. I wasn't careful enough, stumbling a bit on wobbly legs with muscles too shaky to support them. Good to have a pro around, Toshiro had rushed toward me the second he saw me moving and wrapped me in his arms, holding lightly until I had my balance, while I blushed like a schoolgirl.

“I'm fine. Just moved too quick.”

Really, I was not a weakling.

“It was your first time. Now you know, take it easy on your body for a bit. And always look after your partner.”

Yet, he took my cock three times and yeah, he was a mess after the last one but he'd had plenty of strength until then. Oh well, that's what I get for hiring a god of sex. I pushed gently out of his embrace and headed for the sink.

“Yeah, well, I'm not going to bed without brushing my teeth. Neither are you. You can use my toothbrush if you didn't bring one. I don't know what ' _morning after licking sweat and cum off some guy's chest_ ' breath is like, but don't expect a good-morning kiss if you don't scrub your tongue.”

Oh, that laugh! Out of his view, I closed my eyes tight and tried to memorize it. Tomorrow was going to suck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT CHAPTER - How to Find Your Missing Whore  
> The boys part, the truth comes to light, the boys come together again - but will they both be happy about it?


	3. How to Find Your Missing Whore

Half-woken by the chime of a text, I thought about finding my phone and turning it to silent like I should have. Too comfortable to actually do anything about it though. Cool room, one sheet pulled over us, warm underneath, and so tired. _Us_. Drop-dead gorgeous sex-worker in bed with me, tangled with me, really. I remember being in a neat S shape, spooning, arm wrapped around his waist and face buried in his white hair. Now I was mostly on my back, his lean body tilted back to lie partly on top of me, one arm flung over my ribs, one hip on top of mine. Yum.

I stretched a light cramp out of my free leg, the one not pinned by his, and marveled at the slightly parted pink lips, the faint snore, and the look of absolute peace. He looked so young, so unguarded, so achingly beautiful. As exhausted as he was, I let my eyes drift shut, content and convinced that no dream could be as good as this reality.

Another chime. This time he stirred, head turning away and cheek rubbing the pillow with a sigh. Damn phone. Seconds later, another one, and then another, fuck, he was waking up. I looked, six the fuck o'clock. Granted, I was usually up at 5:30 and running by 6 unless it was an off day.

“Ichigo?”

“Sorry, that's my stupid phone. Someone is going to get beaten.”

“Mmm. Might be important.”

Sleepy Toshiro was adorable, slowly-blinking eyes looking cobalt blue in the feeble light, movements somehow graceful as he scooted a bit and sat up, one arm stretching toward the ceiling with fingers spread, the other crooked at the elbow and stretching down behind his head as he yawned. I turned to rummage in the nightstand where another chime was ringing out, catching a glimpse of naked Toshiro padding toward the bathroom.

Shaking my head, I looked down. Twelve group texts and counting, Renji, Rukia, Keigo, Mizuiro all yapping, only Chad and Uryu characteristically silent while the rest fed off each other, wanting to know how it went. That was fine. Asking if I lost my cherry, not very original even with the stupid emojis. Demanding dick-pics of my stud, too crude to be funny. More texts arrived, getting randier as the jokes spiraled out of control.

_Go fuck yourselves._ Send.

_And thanks for the best birthday ever._ Send.

And silent. One more chime from you, and I'll beat you against this nightstand until nothing is left but dust. On the other hand.

“Toshiro?”

“Hmm?” I heard the water running in the sink.

“I wouldn't presume to ask for your number; I'll never be able to afford something like this again. But do you think I could take your picture?”

A couple of splashes and silence. Should have known. Should have sneaked a pic while he slept, at least, but no, I wouldn't want to do something like that to a person so private. Odd, that, sharing his body with strangers but so very distant, reserved, unwilling to share anything else.

“Not nude. And unless you're up, I wouldn't mind sleeping in. I've been told a morning cuddle is worth the time.”

_Oh. Hell. Yes._ I flopped back down, arms open wide, reaching out with grasping motions of my fingers as he walked around the corner and stared before doubling over with melodic laughter. I grinned wider when he called me an idiot and crawled into my waiting embrace.

oooooooOOOOOooooooo

I woke again before the alarm. Checkout was noon, so there were still a couple of hours before I would have to face cold reality. I shouldn't complain, relieved to find very little remorse for my less than honorable actions, not to mention less of a hangover than I deserved. I would leave behind the ridiculous ache that seized my chest as I stared at him, so unique and handsome, openhearted, passionate, kind, funny. I would take with me the gratitude which he would never know, undying gratitude for giving me hope. My heart was still broken, but on the mend, and now it knew what it wanted.

Slipping out from under his arm, I burrowed down between the sheets, finding he already had a soft morning erection for me to play with, no doubt fueled by dreams of me and the feel of me thoroughly tangled up with him. He woke before I had him fully aroused, but the dreaming mumbles as I licked and kissed had been quite charming, particularly the ' _Oh, Shiro, god_.' Hated the nickname, usually, but it sounded nice in his sleepy moan.

Noble brat, he tossed off the covers as soon as he was aware it wasn't a dream and pulled on my shoulders. Regretfully, I let go of his cock, licking my lips with a purring meant to make him let me go so I could finish. Instead I was manhandled some more, much to my delight, until I was stretched next to him and being kissed rather ferociously, all forceful tongue and tugging on lips. Then he surprised me, falling onto my chest, his face against my neck.

“Don't. You don't have to do anything else.”

I found myself stroking his hair, reacting to the quiet, flat tone, very unlike him. He was hiding emotion . . . well, failing miserably to hide emotion, really. He was sad to part, as well. He was young enough to fall for it, the illusion of emotional connection between strangers who have sex. Though this was my first 'one-night stand,' I was too wise to give in to the manipulations of my own hormones. We had very little in common. At least, I was guessing so, I didn't even know enough about him to make that judgment. He had a lot of admirable qualities, but he was barely legal, his entire life ahead of him. I was only six years older, but an old man in my soul, jaded and soured on love. Though perhaps not as dismal as all that, now, thanks to him.

“I know. And you can't tell me what to do anymore, birthday boy.”

He drew back, hiding a real sniff with a fake one. Poor kid. I hoped I hadn't done too much damage. I hadn't wanted to hurt him. Anything but that.

“Alright. I'll just get my things. It was fun,” what an awful thing to say. “No, it was really quite wonderful. I’ll remember you for a very long time, precious.”

I went to kiss his cheek, a final selfish act and then I'd get the hell out of his life. He turned and buried his hand in my hair, buried his tongue in my mouth, and we were devouring each other like long-time lovers about to be parted. He was more aggressive than before, leaving my mouth tingling as he moved on to trail kisses down my cheek to my neck, holding me by the hair and moving to press me flat on the mattress, looming over me. He was sucking on my neck, drawing heat to the thin skin above my pulse, and I shuddered as he moved. Teeth nipped my Adam's apple and then he sucked the other side, a little lower, a spot that made my eyes roll back.

“Ah! Ichigo!”

He broke away, looking down at my neck, realizing how possessive his actions were.

“Shit! Sorry, forgot . . . the marks.”

I pulled his head back down.

“Don't stop.”

Didn't have to tell him twice, and I gasped when he returned to that spot. I would have a dark bruise in no time, a memento, and another. Now that he had permission, he seemed determined to leave evidence of his passion on my neck, my shoulders, moving down to scatter marks on my chest and latching on to my nipple with a hunger I encouraged by moaning his name like a mantra, _Ichigo, Ichigo, my angel, my savior, let these never fade_.

oooooooOOOOOooooooo

Impossible to resist, though I felt a renewed surge of guilt. He had given far more than he had been paid for, and it seemed like . . . what would it be, blackmail, extortion, something at any rate, playing on his sympathy and maybe the need not to disappoint a client. Especially when he let me, almost forced me to continue leaving hickeys all over that perfect chest, that long neck, those strong shoulders where the muscle stood up just begging to be bitten above the ivory curves of collarbones that needed color, red, pink, already hints of blue-purple.

Hands were everywhere, mine petting and teasing his chest, reaching down to stroke thighs, wrist occasionally brushing against the growing firmness that helped absolve my guilt. He was touching, mapping, like he planned to memorize every part of me, from running through my hair, tracing the lines of my back, almost digging into my cheeks and pushing circles into the ticklish dimples above them.

Probably, I should have just enjoyed the surprise blowjob and given him the tip he'd earned and gone back to sleep. I needed to stop . . . didn't I? The way he was moaning my name, like a dying man calling for god in mourning and rapture, I had keep going.

“Toshiro . . . baby, can I . . . one more time?”

The second of silence nearly killed me. The low chuckle and the leg dragging a smooth thigh up and down my leg, foot pressing to and massaging my calf, that answer let me breathe again. He grabbed my hair, pulled, made me look up from his chest, look into eyes that would haunt me for the rest of my life and hopefully beyond.

“Do whatever you want.”

Laugh or groan, why not both? Only, he had me worked up, and I already knew his stamina was beyond mine. Well, in terms of holding out for each orgasm anyway. I had, after all, managed to wear him out by the third time, having to hold him up by those sharp hipbones that fit into my palms like we were made for each other. At any rate, I had some work to do if I wanted a great ending for both of us. So, it was my turn to slither down, last bit of sheets clinging to us kicked to the floor.

True to his word, he only argued in the squirming of his body, the scraping of blunt nails as I proceeded to do what I had dreamed of in the few hours of darkness. And it lived up to expectations, the skin shaved smooth, even paler than the rest of him, only the lightest suction required to break tiny blood vessels. I left a trail of lingering kisses up from one knee, pausing to lick at silver hair and nip at the crease of his thigh before heading back down.

The growl of my name and the tug on my hair was the greatest protest he gave, trying to pull me back to the center. Good, I needed him aching, focusing as hard as I could on not getting any worse myself. It would be a shame for the pretty thighs not to match, so I set about decorating the left one until he was writhing again right out of my hands as I tried to grip his hips.

“Hey! What happened to letting me do what I want?”

He was already wriggling back into the same position, my hands helping, pulling him by one leg. He was quite erect now, and I soaked in the sight of the lovely body, so delicate-looking yet strong, and the smirk below teal eyes glinting with humor and desire. In between two elegant fingers, the plastic tube we had nearly emptied, and yet another foil square.

“Just a suggestion, precious. Or, I could turn over so you can continue with your artwork.”

At least he was a little breathless. I took the offered bottle and packet, trying to ignore the throb of pure lust.

“Ever the teacher.”

Impossible to resist once he had put the idea in my head, and it took only a quick movement. He must not have expected me to take him seriously, based on the yelp and his tensing as I lifted his right leg high, god it was beautiful as it stretched toward the ceiling and I paused to hold it. It was pure instinct, scooting forward and rubbing my body up on the carved marble curves like a humping dog. Far from offended, he relaxed back with a moan, eyes locked on me as I bit at his ankle and pressed my cock to the soft skin, slipping to the side where bruises were blooming like dark roses on lily-white.

“You don't have . . . to wait, Ichigo. I'm ready. Trust me.”

He liked this. It was turning him on, me on my knees molesting his leg like it deserved, fucking divine thing that it was with its long, long muscles and strong, perfect bones all wrapped up in ivory-colored silk. Only problem was, I was enjoying it even more, his skin now wet and pleasant to slip around on, my tongue on his instep making his toes curl. Not how this was going to end. Reluctantly, I moved the leg as I'd intended, hand going down to push his hip.

There before me was the wide, flawless expanse of his back, and he made it worse by lying flat, arms stretched out and white-crowned head to the side so I could see one barely open jewel through long lashes, open lips curved in his faint smile. Well, that backfired. I had to close my eyes and slow my breathing, mentally debating the risks and rewards of finding something to tie around my dick. No, that would probably backfire, too.

_Focus, idiot_. He was pretty damn hard, last I saw, so really only one thing left to do. And that involved slippery, shiny stuff and those two perfect curves, soft hills of flesh on an otherwise trim and hard body, and I bit my lip hard in lieu of punching myself in the jaw.

I gave in to the perverse need to suck bruises on each globe as I ran hands up and down his back, feeling more than hearing his humming enjoyment as I pushed into overworked muscles. Moments later I was trailing slick fingers into the hot cleft, and soon discovered what he really meant when he said I didn't have to wait. He wasn't loose, exactly, and I wouldn't think entering unprepared would be pleasant for him. But he wasn't nearly as tight as before, quickly allowing a second finger and soft, so soft and hot and soon I would have my cock buried in this again and _damnitall_ think of something else!

Think of something like finding that spot again, making sure I'd know just where to aim. It wasn't difficult now that I had some practice, and the shout muffled in the pillow had me grinning like a madman. Another brush of fingers and his legs were spreading, hips grinding into the mattress and then pushing back to beg for more.

Just a little more, a little more, fingers parting and massaging as I leaned over him to taste the hint of salt from the warm valley of his spine. He turned his head, one hand reaching back with a grasping motion.

“Ichi . . . Ichigo, please.”

I didn't think it was a trick, candied words of a professional. No, like everything about him it seemed totally genuine. Not that it mattered, such a man begging for me even a little was enough to set my blood on fire.

If it was going to be the last time I saw his face in orgasm, I wanted to fucking see it. Almost violently, I moved and flipped him back over, hurrying to find and tear the packet, groaning as I rolled the latex down my length while he, fucking tease, pulled his feet up the bed, wrapped long fingers around himself and thrust into his own fist.

As soon as I could, I lunged forward, grabbing the offending hand and pinning it to his side, grunting with the effort to balance myself and the weight of him suddenly pressed into me so that I could reach down and guide myself into him. His grin was vicious, all teeth and flashing turquoise as his legs came up, knees high, feet digging into my thighs when I tried to enter carefully. Instead, he was making me push in fast, deep, all at once.

“Yes! Hnnng . . . c'mon . . . make me feel it!”

Out, all the way, wanting to feel that agonizing pressure of entry again, wondering what it would feel like dragging bare skin back and pressing so tight, and I shouted as I slammed into him. His head was thrown back, tendons standing out on his neck and god, I wanted to bite them, the bruises along them would haunt my dreams. Another few thrusts like that and I was losing my mind, getting a foot onto the bed under me, forcing him higher and bending his body under me to fuck down and in as deep as I could get, no thought for anything but the friction and my body's drive to move.

Marks of his own were being left, hands scrabbling at my hips as his body thrashed, mind as far gone as mine. I reached for the hard and slick and divine thing smacking between his body and mine and squeezed, hearing him howl my name and surely getting bruised from powerful thighs tightening around me. Trying to stroke, more like inelegant jerks and amateur groping, still it seemed to work and soon he was reduced to nothing but grunts and clinging to me. Until I felt him fighting me, erratic efforts to push me back, legs kicking into my thighs.

Instantly I plunged into him, one more loud slap of flesh, warmth strangling my cock as I came, the swiftest riptide of bliss I'd ever felt taking over my thrusting body and drowning mind. Then I was gasping his name as it became impossibly better, his legs shaking as he found his own release, his walls gripping, muscles locking tight. Rapture, mere seconds of Heaven stretched out but fleeing mere mortals so soon, leaving us panting and longing to reach those heights again.

And god, the perfection in the aftershocks. I had partly collapsed, leg sliding out from underneath me, forcing him to twist to the side and trapping one of his gorgeous legs under my weight. As soon as I realized it, I struggled to lift myself, slipping out of his heat and flopping onto my back with all the grace of a landed fish. So not the image I wanted him to keep of me, but I was too blissed out to do anything about it.

I did manage to turn my head, soaking in the sight of him panting at the ceiling, shoulders flat, lithe torso twisting so hips faced me, blotches of cum pale on pale, pearl on alabaster and I shuddered at how beautiful he was. Re-energized by the sight, by the sound of little hums and moans of pleasure from the throat stretched back, exposed and marked, I lurched toward him, not even caring how awkward that must look. He wasn't watching anyway, until I pushed him again to get his leg out of my way, baring the spent, twitching cock and the long torso to me.

My mouth latched onto him. I heard a strange, low sound between a yelp and a growl, felt long fingers tangle in my hair as I ate his dick like I was starving. It wasn't that I was trying to make him hard again, I simply had to taste him once more, savaging him with my tongue to get every bit of salt and bitter and sweet from every bit of velvet skin. Then I let him go, licking at silver hair and up, up the taut stomach and scouring the shallow navel and on to quivering abs and bending ribs. No wonder he had done that to me twice; there was something about it, like grooming a mate, both possessive and comforting.

He was laughing. My perfect, pretty prince was laughing breathless and beautiful and I had to crawl up to those curved lips and capture them. And still he chuckled, humming and sucking on my tongue between little gasps of laughter. I buried a hand in his lovely white locks and grinned as I kissed his nose and eyes and back to the welcoming warmth. Content, full of joy, unbearably sad, I gave him my best smile and let my head fall on one bent arm, the other continued stroking his hair.

“Thank you, Toshiro.”

It was a mild snort, that sweet, barely-there smile softening it. His hand ran up and down my arm, and he looked happy, tired, maybe a hint of sadness, too? Just my own, I was sure. This was a life-altering event for me, another night on the job for him. I knew he enjoyed it, though, liked me enough to be more than kind. That was enough.

“You are so very welcome, Ichigo. Now, if my spine still works, I need to clean up a bit.”

It was ending. I smiled again, rolling away from him to be sure I didn't do something monumentally stupid like cling to him or cry or tell him I loved him. I had yet another disgusting condom to distract me pretty thoroughly.

“There are still clean towels. I'll shower after you. Want me to order breakfast?”

“No time, precious,” I felt him climb off the bed, couldn't resist turning to watch glistening thighs, freshly bruised ass. “I'd love to stay, but I do have obligations today.”

Obligations. Other men, or women I supposed. At least they'd see that someone else was allowed to break the rules, to leave so many marks, though they would fade soon enough just like the ones on my neck and shoulders, and the pretty patch of bruises where he seemed obsessed with kissing between ribs and hips. I sighed, hearing the bathroom door close, the water already starting. I got my melodramatic ass out of bed, stretching pleasantly sore muscles and reminding myself to take away only the positives, the massive positives.

For some reason I dragged on boxers. Maybe a need to signal the end of the affair. Though it hardly mattered if I was naked when he came out of the shower, what with the heavy scent of sex to remind us both. I grinned at my reflection as I passed one of the many mirrors. Should have tried taking him right there, against the wall with that full-length mirror in front of him. Well, at least I had confidence in my sexuality now, which had been the point. I knew what I liked, which was practically everything. In ten years or so maybe I would recover from Toshiro and ask out that blue-haired friend of Renji's.

I set out my clean clothes, packed away the old ones, found my wallet. All of it, four hundred, I put on the dresser in easy view. I had some of my own money to cover the dinner and tip the maid. Hopefully he would take it while I was in the shower and not make me hand it to him. Not that he should be ashamed, I wasn't the least bit judgmental, I just had no idea what to say other than to thank him again.

oooooooOOOOOooooooo

Pausing with the tiny bit of hotel soap in my hand, I stared at the smooth arcs of light bruises from my groin to both knees. More on my stomach, more on my chest, more where I could not see, my neck, my back, my ass. Such a teenage thing to do, not that I minded, twisting in front of the mirror to get a better look. Precious boy had gotten his fill, and so had I. It was over.

I sighed into the gathering steam, setting aside useless feelings and washing away the last of his saliva, the blend of his sweat and mine, the lingering scent of sex. The ache of our final, most aggressive coupling would stay with me, along with the bruises, the remnants of a dream doomed to fade but comforting for a time.

Stepping out of the shower, I caught a hint of red on my ankle and smirked, remembering the way he had used my leg, giving me an unforgettable view of his body in action. Leg fetish pervert. God, he was sweet.

I wrapped a towel around my waist, time to return to the real world where I am not known for prancing around naked. The real world had changed, though. I had changed. One night, a boy with a fiery spirit and passion I had only dreamed of but never believed in like the tooth-rotting fluff that novelists and filmmakers peddle like drugs, and nothing would ever be quite the same.

Gathering myself, I ruffled my hair, vain thing that I am, and opened the door. He was there, in the narrow hallway between sink and closet, packing away the odds and ends that had been on the sink, evidence of our tryst disappearing. He straightened with a smile, seemingly lighthearted, happy, and that cheered me. As if we had the same thought, we leaned in as I moved to pass him, a firm kiss, short and familiar as the affection between a true couple. _If only._

“Water's hot, precious.”

“Thanks, baby.”

I wasn't normally one for grinning like that strawberry idiot, but I was getting plenty of practice. Then he was gone, and I stared at the closed door, amusement waning, longing pushed away. Now the regret set in. There was nothing about him I did not find incredibly attractive, and I could no longer blame alcohol. But what I had done guaranteed that there was no future for us.

There wasn't much of mine to pack, and I dressed in a hurry. Sitting on the end of the bed to pull on socks and shoes, I spotted the stack of money on the dresser. Ah, my angel, as if you would ever owe anyone for sharing your beauty. Poor blue-haired whore, he had missed out on so much.

The water was still running as I did a final check, making sure I left nothing. His phone was by the untouched pile of money, and I took one shot at the passcode, his birthday, and failed. Oh well, I would have to break the promise of letting him have a photo. Probably for the best, anyway. I grabbed my satchel and cast one last look at the door, hearing the playful singing of some romantic pop song. I moved the door slowly, quietly making my exit.

_Coward._

oooooooOOOOOooooooo

I woke to a pounding in my head, blinking my way out of deep, heavy blackness. More thumping, and I realized it was the door. Good, didn't need a headache. It was dark, and I yawned until my jaw cramped, hand smacking at the base of the lamp on the nightstand until a bright cone of light made me wince.

“Ichigo! I know you're in there. Get up, lazy bastard!”

More pounding. I groaned and stretched and then smiled, remembering why I was tired and sore. In no hurry to face the inquisitorial squad, I stood and stretched some more while the midget's voice joined in the demand for entrance to my domain. Best decision ever, putting a solid lock on my door.

“Jesus, at least put a shirt on.”

“S'wrong, Rukia? Seeing this ruin you for all other men? I know Renji isn't much to look at.”

“Go to hell, strawberry!”

“After you, pineapple!”

“Both of you knock it off. Ichigo, margaritas, living room, now. And for fuck’s sake cover yourself. You look like you have the plague.”

The rental home was a good find, close to campus with enough room for four of us to share expenses. Uryu and Chad weren't moving in until closer to term, and Rukia was just a frequent 'guest' of Renji's. No way her stuck-up brother would let her live with four guys, and I didn't blame him. For now, we had the house to ourselves, and the blender was getting frequent workouts. Rukia headed to the kitchen to try to break it again while I plopped into a chair and he sprawled on the couch.

“So, best surprise ever, eh? Wish I coulda seen your face when you opened the door.”

“I can't even deny it. I've never seen a guy that hot in my life. Probably never will again.”

Renji shuddered. Straight as they come, and so in love with the tiny terror dumping tequila in the blender that he didn't even think of other women, let alone men. What an odd couple, but it seemed to work.

“No accounting for taste. Is it the hair? Yours is weird, mine's weird, you just think his is like attractive, some kind of mating call shit like those fancy birds on the Discovery channel? Must be why you've had a crush on me for so long.'

Huh, the agency must have shown him pictures or something. If Renji had picked out Toshiro, he had much better taste in men than I'd have dreamed. No, I bet Rukia picked him out.

“Dream on. So, anyway, you got the agency's phone number?”

Quick mix margaritas arrived, what they lacked in finesse more than compensated for by alcohol content.

“Forget it, Ichigo. Renji already asked. No dating. He must be good in the sack if you're still hung up on him. Personality is shit.”

“What? He was really nice. Incredible, actually.” I saw the grins and rushed on before they could start asking very embarrassing questions. “That's not the point! I just want to call and tell them he left without his tip. I left it out while I showered, thought he'd still be there when I got out. But he was gone, and the money wasn't.”

“Ew, you left money on the bed? What kind of manners did your crazy father teach you?”

“Must have missed the 'how to tip a prostitute' lecture. Why don't you call him up and ask what I should have done?”

“Why don't I?” He mimicked holding a phone to his ear. “Hey, pops Kurosaki, guess what your darling little boy was up to last night? Huh? Wait a sec. Hey, Ichigo, daddy wants to know if you took it up the ass like a champ.”

“That's it . . .”

Wise to the ways of the world, Rukia took my chair and my drink, watching with a gleeful smirk while I knocked Renji over the couch, got an elbow of the throat, kneed him in the stomach, almost got bitten, and then pinned the piece of shit with an arm behind his back and my knee on his good-for-nothing ass.

“Uncle. Uncle! Shit!”

“That's what you get for pissing off a black belt, moron.”

“Rukiaaaa! Don't take his side!”

“Anyway, do you have the number or not?”

“Damn, are those claw marks? Like the hickeys weren’t bad enough. You stud, you.”

“Fuck you both, I'll google it.”

“Alright, alright. Here's my phone. You can just call him directly, under Grimm.”

“Huh? Who?”

“Wow, Ichigo. Try to remember the guy you just fucked like last night. He was expensive, you know.”

“Seriously. You mean the guy from volleyball, your old b-ball buddy?”

“Uh, yeah. Imagine my surprise when I tried to set you up on a date and found out he was a call girl. That's how we got the idea for your birthday. Pretty sweet present, right?”

I sat hard on the edge of the overturned couch, wincing a bit as my ass reminded me to show a little more compassion for my not-so-virgin parts, and stared at nothing while my mind was spinning. Grimm got sick or something and Toshiro was a last-minute replacement from the agency, maybe? No. I remembered thinking how he was dressed like a well-off businessman, not a sex worker, and chalking it up to the high-end escort thing. The surprise on his face when we first saw each other, the way he seemed confused by everything I said, and the liquor on his breath. He didn't know my name, nor what I had asked the agency for.

He was so, well, tight. He fed me birthday cake. He tensed up every time I asked a personal question.

And he stayed all night.

And he didn't take the money.

_Oh, shit._

oooooooOOOOOooooooo

“You look like shit!”

I wanted to snap back, but she was right. Yesterday's pants and jacket, wrinkled from being tossed on the floor. I hadn't even looked at my hair. The five or so hours of sleep was nice, the most peaceful sleep I could recall, but it wasn't enough to counter drinking and then fucking repeatedly. I looked like shit. Besides, she was taking my worthless carcass in while I looked for a new place. I was picky. It might take ages, so I couldn't really give her a hard time.

“Thank you for that, Ran. Mind if I come in?”

And with that I was being jerked through the door by a sleeve, left to catch my balance as she spun away and trotted off into god-knows-where. Wearily, I kicked off my shoes, dropped my satchel, and wandered into my old home. Ran and I had lived here for almost four years before I moved in with Sojiro. Well, I had lived here. She had squatted.

“Sit, sit, I've got cookies!”

Like I cared. I looked around. Not much had changed. It was neater than I expected. I figured credit went to Gin for that, and for the decent décor that had replaced the pieces I had taken. Such a tender heart, she had not had the best luck with men, and I was as protective of her as I would have been of a sister. Ran’s current boyfriend had good taste, an education, a successful career, and he treated her like the fickle goddess she had every right to be. Six months in, I had finally stopped worrying about her. Twelve months in, and I started to worry instead about the day he would take her away from me.

I shrugged out of my wrinkled jacket and collapsed on what used to be my favorite couch. Ugh, movers. And working around Sojiro to get my things. Funny, I hadn't thought of him once until coming here, not even this morning. Especially not this morning. Just remembering the way that shy, pretty virgin had hoisted my ankles up in the air, the teasing way he almost stopped right as I lost my mind, that pause before he slammed into me . . .

“Are you okay, honey? You look a bit red. Here, these will cheer you up. That and I just opened one of the bottles of Reisling you left.”

“It’s barely after noon, Ran.”

“So? It’s just wine. Cookie?”

Only because I was starving, and they were oatmeal-raisin so not godawful sweet. I thought about protesting the alcohol, having recently sworn off the stuff after a drunken set of bad decision led to a one-night stand with an 18-year-old. But hell, one glass would take some of the anxiety away as the weight of all I needed to do came back to my shoulders, and perhaps it would dull the thankfully minor hangover. Hair of the dog.

“I'm fine, Ran, really. Just tired.”

She immediately sat and tucked her feet up so her knees were over my lap and looped her arm around my shoulder. I couldn't resist, leaning my head into hers with a sigh. Everyone needs a bit of comforting every now and then, even me.

“Well, good news is there's still some of your clothes. I didn't touch your room, really, since you're still paying the mortgage and all. Guess you really didn't expect it to work out, huh?”

I flinched, not at the unintentional callousness that was just her usual unfiltered honesty, but at my own failure. I didn't regret ending it, not anymore. But I sure as hell regretted starting it.

“God, that was stupid.” Yes, it was, but not untrue. “Sorry, honey, I didn't mean anything. So hey, Gin's staying home tonight so how about some sappy romance movies to make us cry and delivery from that Thai place you're so crazy about. My turn to watch you cry in a bucket of ice cream, huh?”

“That, believe it or not, sounds wonderful. Except for the ice cream part. And do I have a story to tell you.”

She perked up, grabbed a cookie off the plate I had somehow ended up holding, and jumped back to her feet. Right as I was getting comfortable.

“Yay! I hope the story explains those pretty purple marks all over your neck. And they better have been put there by someone other than that slimy bastard. Let me get the wine!”

Hours later, oath to never get drunk again already trashed along with both of us, we sat on the floor with various cushions strewn around. Enough Pad See Ew and Massaman Curry to feed an army had been consumed along with a few bottles of wine. Her choice, _Shakespeare in Love_ , was over, thank God. My choice from her questionable collection of nothing but cheesy romance films, _Moonrise Kingdom_ , was quickly interrupted when we stopped talking about my failed relationship and started talking about my one-night stand. You guessed it, she owned _Pretty Woman_. Fuck my life.

“But, Shiro . . .”

“Don't call me that!”

“. . . that's only . . . how old are you?”

“Twenty-four. And he turned eighteen yesterday. Not exactly pedophilia, I grant you, but he's just starting college for Christ's sake.”

“So what?”

“So what? I don't know him. He sure as shit doesn't know me. He thinks I'm a hooker, not a frigid, mean old bastard who lied to him on his birthday. And did I mention, I chased away his real hooker? Hot, too, he might've liked him.”

I was definitely beyond tipsy. I sounded ridiculous. So did Ran. So did Julia. Actually, she made sense, but Richard was a dick. God, _no more wine_.

“My little genius, you can't buy that kind of chemistry. You can't pass up something like this, no, I'm serious! You should just call him up, offer to be his sugar daddy. He's an innocent college boy, you're a stinking rich pervert, it's a match made in Hollywood!”

Oh, no. That sounded like a really, _really_ good idea. He was probably too proud, but I couldn't stop myself from imagining him in designer suits, tasteful jewelry, jumping up and down like a puppy on crack when I handed him the keys to something fast and shiny. Oh, I would spoil that boy completely rotten.

“Moot anyway, I don't have his number, I don't know who he is.”

A lie. I had his first name from his luscious lips, his last name from that smurf trollop, his birth date. Not to mention he chatted about his high school, his college, his father's clinic. It didn't take a whole lot of detective work to get his damned number. Hell, I could steal his identity if I wanted to.

“Well, you seem to have gotten over what's his name pretty fast. King of the rebound, you are.”

As much as I couldn't get Ichigo out of my head, I was still pretty happy with the outcome. Only one day and I could not only think of Sojiro without falling to pieces, I really was relieved to be away from him. My eyes were open to all kinds of possibilities, romantically speaking. Ichigo couldn't be the only one with an amazing attitude about life and humor and sex. And I wasn't a freak for wanting a far greater level of intimacy than I had known.

The future was looking bright, I was free, young, single, rich, and apparently good between the sheets. So why was that bucket of ice cream sounding so appealing?

oooooooOOOOOooooooo

I whistled as I took in the sight before me. No, wasn't a mansion, or the nicest house on the block. For the heart of Silicon Valley, it could even be called humble, surely worth no more than two million. Rukia's place was three times the size. I stood critiquing like the guy driving a Ford Pinto saying ' _Sure, Lotus is alright, but I'd rather have a Bugatti_.' It was modern, lots of glass with odd angles and straight lines that didn't seem to meet properly. Impeccable landscaping, lots of strange plants and the prettiest walkway with something flowering between the stones. I could just see a pool between some hedges, and it looked big. That made sense.

Stalker 101. First, the tip money became bribe money. Well, it only took a fifty for the hotel clerk to tell me that something strange had happened that night. ' _Oh, really, tell me more_ ,' I said, like he had any idea of the odd goings on. Seems that the same room had been rented out to two people, a minor computer glitch involving multiple check-ins and timing, it happens. Only both of the guests prepaid for their one room and neither came to complain. Only one checked out. The hotel was full, so where did the second guest go? It had been the topic of some gossip, but management said if no one complained, just leave it. A name? Why yes, T. Hitsugaya.

It really didn't take much after that. Not the most common name, certainly not the most common look, and he had quite a trail online. Former Olympic swimmer, two gold and a silver no less. Inventor of three things I completely didn't understand, having to do with chemistry and solar energy and water purification. Renowned member of several science organizations and some famous think tank on global environmental issues. And a major force in charity work, again mostly about clean water and energy.

Honestly, it was a wonder I hadn't recognized him, or heard of him. But all his activities were not mainstream other than the Olympics in 2012, which I barely paid attention to since I was twelve and it was so boring, but believe me I found some footage of the swim events online and Toshiro at eighteen in tight speedos, shaved slick and cutting through the water . . . _good god_.

Oh yes, and the most incredible fact, a couple of MIT doctorates at age twenty, chemistry and engineering. Dr. Dr. Toshiro Hitsugaya, prodigy, genius, graduated high school age fourteen, undergrad for only two years, then grad school and doctorals while winning Olympic gold.

Dr. Hitsugaya was very well-known, but only if you paid attention to environmental science, behind the scenes shit. He was a public figure, couldn't help it, but there were almost no details of his private life after one trashy article about him from his athlete days. Apparently, he would speak at events, but never gave interviews.

Still, some things are public record, or become so if the press finds you interesting enough. And that led me here, to the pretty piece of abstract art for people to live in, marred by the commotion surrounding a yellow moving van. A well-dressed guy stood apparently arguing with a bored looking man with a clipboard. It wasn't Toshiro. Light build, not tall nor particularly short, dark hair pulled back in a messy ponytail that suited him, letting loose hair frame his face and trail to his shoulders. Not bad looking at all.

Movers were coming and going like a steady trail of ants around the living obstacles near the big double doors, empty hands in, boxes and pieces of furniture out. Lucky me, a few hours and I might have had to track him down all over again. The place he worked was way too high-security and apparently, he only showed up once or twice a week at random so catching him at the door was impractical. In keeping with my stalker role, I casually, quietly made my way up the driveway on the far side of the van, where only a couple of disinterested laborers might spot me.

“Oh, come on! The dishes and pans, too? This is a crime; you're stealing my stuff!”

“According to the paperwork,” that monotonous tone told me this wasn't the first time, “the home and contents belong solely to Mr. Hitsugaya. We are to leave the bed, bedclothes, clothing, and personal effects in the guest bedroom, food items, the major appliances, and,” a smirk as the big guy looked down at the paper pointedly, “the ugly-ass set of pool furniture and the shitty music collection that belongs to the renter and he should feel lucky to have that much.”

“That fucking lunatic! I'm suing all of you. This is not right!”

Not one of the movers batted an eye, though I heard a little snickering. The jerk was too intimidated to try to stop them, must know he's in the wrong or he would have called the cops.

“Toshiro!” I perked up. “I know you're screening my calls, you bitch.” I bristled. “Well, your dogs are here stealing everything. This was our house, I bought things, too, you have no right to just . . . god dammit!” His tone changed, false and wheedling. “Tosh, just call me. I'm sorry, alright? We can work this out. You know I love you . . . just . . . call me.”

Yeah, screaming at him and calling him a bitch will work, you bitch. Just what had I walked into? When did they break up, if that's what happened? Sure sounded like it. I thought for a second, then stalked out from behind the van right toward the asshole who shot an annoyed look at me. Violet eyes, not nearly as pretty as Toshiro's, especially when this jerk looked constipated. Also, his left eye was surrounded by sallow, yellow-green, lids still showing lines of purple with the partly-healed bruise spreading out across cheekbone and brow to just about the size of, say, Toshiro’s fist. I hid a grin.

“Oi! Where's Toshiro?”

“Get lost, he's not here.”

Veteran of many showdowns with bullies, I puffed up a bit and gave him my best scowl.

“I ain't leaving til I get my money. Now, I heard you talkin' to him, so where is the fucking prick?”

Now he looked a little interested. I knew the type. If he thought I meant trouble for Toshiro, he would help me out any way he could. Then, if they ever talked again, he'd pretend complete innocence of the consequences.

“He owes you money?”

“Damn straight. Fancy freak skipped out on a tab at my bar; even stiffed my buddy on a bet at darts. Bought a round for the house, too, and left me with a card that don't work. Bastard owes me extra for listening to him whining about his cocksucker ex, too.”

“That little shit.” Little? That was rich. “Maybe you can get these assholes to tell you where he is, but he isn't here. I can guess where you might find him though.”

Traitorous fuck. When this was all done, I was going to find him again and . . . give him a piece of my mind. Yeah. Definitely not going to beat him into a bloody pulp. Nope. I’m a civilized man. Little purple eyed piece of shit.

oooooooOOOOOooooooo

This one was nicer, and surely worth a fortune. At the edges of the overgrown bay cities there were many suburbs, mostly old towns that still held on to some personality with parks and canals, stretches of farmland and forest, yet all within easy reach of civilization. I'd never even been here, Woodside being about three tax brackets out of my family's price range. And dad was a doctor, so that was saying something.

Nestled between hills, back from the roads, down a long drive between a healthy mix of old-growth trees, the surroundings were wild and natural unlike the fine landscaping of the other place. Clusters of wildflowers had to have been placed and tended but worked in with native plants seamlessly. A wide deck hugged the gray stone walls and trailed down one side toward a small lake. Massive windows again, skylights between solar panels on the sloped roof, it managed to look cozy and lived-in despite its size.

I should have felt like an intruder climbing the stone stairs between clumps of daffodils to the deck with its wooden benches and cushioned patio furniture. My hand lingered on the smooth railing as I walked to the stone-top table where a mug rested within easy reach, a closed book beside it. _Kokoro._ Good lord, was that Chinese? Japanese? Of course, he could read Japanese. I could picture him, making sense out of all those fine little marks and enjoying the fantastic view of the sunrise over the water.

An explosive hiss caught my attention as I stepped a little closer. Curled up in the chair was a tortoiseshell cat, and I resisted the urge to try to pet it despite the green glare, remembering one of the few personal details I had teased out of Toshiro. This must be the opinionated stray that had taken a liking to Toshiro and would claw the eyes out of anyone else.

“Hey, Latte. Is your daddy home?”

A twitch of the black and cream ear. A good name, the cat looked just like good coffee, mostly black with swirls of rich caramel. Casually, not wanting to seem as if she was truly concerned about yours truly in the least, a yawn flashed dagger fangs, head turning just enough to keep one narrow eye on me before tucking her nose back in her paws with complete indifference. An ideal cat for the aloof beauty that had taken her in.

Drawing a deep breath of clean air, once again I faced my doubts. He was a private person, and he had done something which, I suspected, was quite against his nature. Now I saw a little of the picture, a rough break-up and alcohol, deadly combination. Bumping into me on the street would have been awkward enough in the wake of such a scandalous night. Me showing up at his home, the skeleton walking right out of his closet to confront him, might be one of the worst things that ever happened to him.

All that I knew, and I was willing to risk hurting him for the chance, selfish bastard that I am, just on the chance that he might have been thinking of me from time to time. I hadn't stopped thinking of him for a second waking or sleeping for eight nights, nine days. I pushed a button. Old-fashioned chimes rang, ultra-modern security lit up a series of little lights on the half-concealed panel by the door. Pretending patience, I tried to slow my racing heart and slanted a nervous glance at the tiny camera trained on my face. Two seconds before I gave in and reached for the buzzer the lights blinked, and a woman's voice came through. Probably a woman anyway, so scratchy and tired it was hard to tell. Only one thing was sure, it wasn't Toshiro.

“Hello? Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Um. It's almost nine. Sorry, is Toshiro at home?”

“Toshiro? Is that you, Sojiro, you worthless sack of dicks?”

Definitely a woman. Oh god, what if it was his girlfriend? His wife? What if I'd read the whole situation incorrectly, and now his male hookup was here to out him and ruin his life?

“No. Uh, no . . . my name's Ichigo. I was hoping to . . .”

“Ichigo! Did you say Ichigo?”

“Yeah?”

“Oh my GOD! Stay right there!”

Involuntarily, I took a step back. Sleepy to furious to squealing like a teapot, this woman was intimidating as fuck, and that was just through an intercom. Reminded me of Rukia, actually. I barely had time to grasp the fact that she knew my name, which meant Toshiro told her my name, which meant Toshiro talked about me. Then the door was flung open and I was grabbed by a blur of red and gold and yanked into the house. Blurs continued, the warm, dark tones of the furnishings, lots of bookshelves in random places, paintings, and I was plopped down in the middle of it on the wide couch with bright red nails grabbing my jaw to turn my head this way and that.

“Well, well, well, you sure are the pretty one, aren't you? Eighteen I heard! That dirty cradle robber. How did you find him? Got brains and beauty, huh, just like me and Toshiro, you'll fit right in. How about drinks to celebrate? Wait, you're just a baby. Ha! Can't even drink! Some coffee then? Shiro got some Costa Rican stuff the other day, it's just divine in a French Press. Cream and sugar?”

_What the fuck?_

“Black.”

“So, what are your intentions towards my sweet baby dragon?”

“What? Your what?”

“Come on, give. You didn't track him all the way out here to say hello. He told me _everything_. Every. Sordid. Detail. Stop looking at my legs, you dirty boy. Still got a bit of straight in you, don't you?”

_Kill me._

“Are you just here for another good fuck?”

_Kill me now._

“Or could you be here for something else? Tell me, sweetie. Tell Auntie Ran everything.”

oooooooOOOOOooooooo

While nothing compared to a dawn swim in the ocean, the lake was a good second, much better than a pool. I never felt peace like I did in the cool embrace of the water, the comforting slide of it against my skin as it held me up and granted me speed with yielding grace, the sound of it amplifying and muffling the world at the same time, becoming my heartbeat in time with the strokes of my arms. It was both calming and invigorating, and I left the quiet of the lake for the comfort of my old home with an easy heart.

The finished basement was designed by me with my pastimes in mind, featuring a large mudroom and shower for washing off the lake or the dirt from a hike. I had always planned on getting a couple of dogs to keep me company, and this would serve them well. Instead, I had taken in strays – Latte, who was no trouble at all, and Rangiku, who was enough of a handful to replace a dozen dogs.

Freshly showered, wrapped in a thick cotton robe, I padded barefoot up the steps and then stopped dead. Voices. I had thought I heard something, but it was too early for Ran to be up. Hell, it wasn't even close to noon. I told myself I just wanted to make sure it wasn't trouble as I crept up the final stairs, thinking maybe Sojiro had come to scream at me some more. The voices were much clearer, and a chill as cold as the lake ran through every vein, chased by heat so great I nearly collapsed, leaning against the wall that was all that separated me from him.

“Oh, I get it. I always knew my little Shiro would be great in the sack. It's always the cold ones that hide the most fire, you know. Well, except for those of us who let our flame shine bright!”

“That's not it. I mean, I'm really not talking about that.”

Good lord, what was he doing here? It was Ran, wasn't it? Nosy damned control-freak couldn't leave well enough alone, had to go track the young man down and bring him here, _into my home_. Well, Ran's home, really, even if I owned it. Still, the nerve!

“Sure, sweetie. Sex isn't all men think about.”

The sarcasm was thick enough to cut.

“Actually, it isn't, you narrow-minded cow.”

One hand slapped across my mouth to stop the bark of laughter. He sounded legitimately pissed, and no one talked to Ran like that without serious repercussions.

“Toshiro is gorgeous, sexy as hell, yes. He's kind, and intuitive. He makes me laugh and he makes me think and his smile is the most beautiful thing in the fucking world next to his laugh which I'd sell my soul for and fuck all if I can't stop thinking about him every fucking second.”

The anger drained out of his voice, replaced by confused sadness, the tone of a lost child. The amusement drained out of my mind, replaced by that dull aching that had followed me out of that hotel. Could he mean such things? About me, of all people? No. He didn't know me. He knew the illusion.

“I just want to tell him that I can’t stop thinking about him, that I want to spend more time with him . . . even if he hates me for it. He’ll send me away. I know that. I’m not stupid, I know how crazy this is. He's out of my league, and why would he want a kid that had to hire a prostitute just to feel better about himself, anyway? But I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t try. He . . . he’s the most amazing person I’ve ever met. He changed my life.”

I sagged against the wall, barely able to breathe. Days I had been fighting it, constantly wondering what he was doing, what he would say while we watched the sunrise, if he would like my cooking, if he would join me in the lake if he were here. I'd shake free, push his ghost back into my subconscious, and then as soon as I let my guard down, I would feel his lips on my throat. And now he was here, saying things that made my recent dreams burn bright in my mind.

Send him away? How could he think so little of himself?

I should never have done it. He would have had a better experience with the real professional and would not now be pining for a delusion. That arrogant blue jerk would have done his job and left without battering that innocent heart, just a business transaction, no hurt feelings. This was all my fault.

“Aw, you sweet thing. I get it, I really do. You're young, and he was your first, well, first guy anyway. It makes sense you'd feel this way. But Ichigo, really, you don't know him.”

“I do, a little. And that's the point. You never know anybody until you try.”

“So, you want to ask him out, like on a date? Kinda late for that, isn't it?”

_No, it isn’t!_ Shut the hell up, woman!

“No! What's so difficult about this? You meet someone, something gets you interested, you ask them out, and you either like what you find, or you don't. That's called dating. Try it sometime.”

“Hmm. You're right, doesn't sound that difficult at all. Does it, honey?”

_Shit._

“Oh! I forgot all about your coffee! Black, you said? I'll be right back. Well, it takes about fifteen minutes thanks to Mr. Drip-Coffee-is-for-Peasants over there. Be good, boys!”

“What? Do you ever make sense?”

I sighed. Sneaky cow.

I straightened myself, ran a hand through my damp hair because, yes, still vain and meeting him in a robe barefoot and wet was not how I had envisioned our reunion. No, it was supposed to be something stupidly romantic along the lines of catching his eye across a crowded room at some high-brow social event and enjoying his shock at seeing me in all my power and glory. Or maybe I would bump into a stranger and spill my drink all over his white shirt so that it plastered onto his ripped chest only to meet brown eyes full of light and laughter. Well, the wet and robed look was appropriate, given our short and colorful history.

With what dignity I could muster while completely unsure of myself and wanting to run back down the stairs, I stepped around the corner. He was still looking toward the kitchen, so I had a moment to just soak in the sight of him in my house, in my living room, on my couch, filling out a snug V-neck like a damned Calvin Klein model.

“Hello, Ichigo.”

My voice was steady, a miracle. The orange head whipped around, and he was up off the couch in a heartbeat. He stopped after one step my direction, hand that had been lifting falling with a clenched fist. Poor boy, such happiness and confusion and doubt. My own face was calm, but I felt the same, a storm of self-questioning.

This was wrong. We were never supposed to meet. We were never supposed to meet again. A healthy relationship of any kind could not be built on my lies. But there was one thing I desperately needed to say, if it was the only thing I could manage.

“I'm sorry. Ichigo, I'm so sorry.”

“You're sorry! Why?”

Now there was anger and hurt, and I held back a cringe but dropped my eyes. How could I explain how ashamed I was? Yes, he was there expecting sex with a stranger. And yet it felt strangely like I had raped him, though I knew that was completely insane. The cold fact was that he hadn't known the truth. He had never made an informed decision, because of me and my drunken, heartbroken, selfish greed.

“I lied. I did it deliberately. It wasn't at all fair to you. You deserve so much better. You deserve honesty, at least.”

“That's strange. I've thought about that night, a lot, and I don't recall you lying to me one time. Are you sorry for the rest of it? Sorry we fucked? Sorry you stayed? Sorry you left?”

Oh, this hurt far worse than I had prepared myself for. Why? I was a heartless bastard with ice in my veins according to my best friend turned lover turned enemy. Why couldn't I just tell this precious boy to get out of my house and be glad about it? What did I want from him, from myself? To get to know him like he had been suggesting to Ran?

My teeth clenched, enraged at myself. He would hate what he found. Just like the friendship of years now in ruins, our one night of happiness would be wrecked. Another beautiful thing would lie crushed at my feet because there was something wrong with me.

I hadn't even heard him move, crossing the twenty feet between us while I was lost in dark thoughts. I did not resist when he wrapped his arms around me, one arm holding strong around my lower back while the other rubbed soothing circles. I couldn't possibly help myself, clutching his shirt along his ribs and turning my head to nuzzle into the crook of his neck.

“Hey, here's something you didn't know about me. I've got a nasty temper. Really, anyone can set me off without even trying. I don’t ever physically hurt anyone I care about though, don’t worry about that. But I snap at people, like I just did, before I can think it through. You know what helps? Karate. I'm too aggressive for meditation, it seems, so that gave me an outlet, taught me discipline. Doesn't always work though. I can't even tell you how many times I almost got expelled for fighting, though I never once started it. Kinda tapered off by my junior year, all the thugs finally figured out that a black belt actually means something.”

The comforting warmth, the firm hand on my back, the vibration of his voice against my cheek soaked through my own anger and fear. Yes, that's what was stopping me now. Not fear of him physically, though that’s obviously what he thought. No, it was fear of me hurting him, tarnishing his brilliance out of sheer neglect and misunderstanding. He had shown me that there were men out there I could feel instantly attracted to, could open up to, even if it was only a little and only for one night. He had shown me that it was not all my fault, the blame and grief were not all my fault.

It was the fear of messing it up again and losing that revelation that made me want to push him away. But what use was it if I did nothing? The gift he had unknowingly given me would be wasted. I would stand still, back to the frozen genius, interested in no one and nothing except my work. I could survive that way, alone for the rest of my life. But I did not want that, not after he had shown me how wonderful it could be.

“My family was very poor. The biggest treat was the public pool. We would spend the whole day there, together, and it was like a holiday. My father used to joke that one day I would win gold medals. Mother would tell him to stop trying to make me into an athlete when she knew I would be a scientist and save the world. She was probably just trying to make sure I didn't get hurt, too small and frail to ever make Dad's dreams come true. When my parents died, that was the only place I still felt connected to them. Being in the water, weightless, free, as close to truly flying as a human can get; that's my meditation.”

His lips were as warm as I remembered, pressing to my forehead like a benediction, and the last of my anger and tension drained out of me. Perhaps I was still a little afraid, I doubted that would change. It was a new world, after all, if I took his invitation.

“You ever swim in the ocean, out at China Beach?”

“Often. Why?”

“Think I might have seen you there, once. It was so early, the fog was only starting to burn off, the water was freezing and everyone else was waiting for the sun. But there was a real swimmer, tackling the waves like it was nothing. I couldn't believe anyone could stay in the water that long. I couldn't take my eyes off you, a total pervert staring at your body like that. That's when I was still figuring out that I'm gay. It's your fault, apparently.”

I chuckled. “At least I took responsibility for it, you can't deny that.”

His laugh, I hadn't forgotten how bright and honest it was. How could I?

“Let's see. I've already spilled most of my secrets. How about this one? The guy who was supposed to show up that night, you know, the one who was paid, I'd met him once. He's a friend of a friend, thought he was pretty hot so my idiot friend Renji thought it would be a good idea to hire him. Didn’t tell me, though, or I would have known something was wrong when I saw you. Good thing he didn't show up, huh? Can you imagine how awkward it's going to be if I ever see him again?”

I drew my head back, lamenting the loss of contact between my cheek and his shoulder, and gave him my best look of wide-eyed disbelief. Yes, the blue-eyed cocky son-of-a-bitch was quite attractive, but I wasn't about to admit it. Still vain.

“You thought he was hot? With that make-up and that sneer, really?”

“Wait, what? How do you . . .”

“I'm a liar, remember. That wasn't really turn-down service at the door. Don't worry, I gave the tramp some cash before I sent him packing.”

He laughed again, and I found my hands shamelessly creeping under his shirt along his waist, maybe a bit under the waistband of his baggy cargo pants, too.

“Bit possessive, are we?”

“You have no idea.”

He wouldn't believe me if I told him that he already knew more personal details about me than all but three people – Rangiku, Sojiro, and my cousin Momo who now lived on the other side of planet. That was a terrifying thought. I hid my face again, returning to the broad shoulder. I drew a deep breath of his scent, no cologne or aftershave, just some sandalwood soap and him.

“Okay, here goes. I have only had one lover, before you, I mean. Ever.”

His hand went still for the first time and I gulped, nearly choking on my nerves.

“You're pulling my leg.”

“No. We were together a long time. He was my best friend since middle school. We were only classmates for a semester, but he made sure we stayed friends. When we started dating, he changed. Before long we weren't friends at all. And honestly, he was . . . well, terrible in bed. Not that I knew any better.”

“Pfft! No way! Really? Oh, my god, it was that purple-eyed pony-tailed punk, wasn't it?”

I pulled out of his embrace and punched him. Just in the arm, not that hard, and he was a black belt for crying out loud. You'd never guess it by the way he whined and clutched his arm. It was nothing compared to how he had wounded me. It was almost physical, the pain of it, the sting of betrayal.

“That's what I get for opening up, ridiculed. How the fuck do you know Sojiro?”

He froze, just figuring out how pissed I was. This was why I didn't bother with relationships. Nothing, _nothing_ good ever comes of letting my guard down. No one truly cares, not even him, the compassionate act breaking as soon as he had found a vulnerable spot to dig into so he could laugh and belittle for his own amusement. Caught, he just stared, probably trying to think of another way to win my trust just to tear me down. I snarled as I spun and stalked toward the stairs, unwilling to let him see how devastated I was.

“Toshiro! Hey, wait a sec.”

“Get the fuck out of my house.”

“Baby,” I winced and started up the stairs. “No. I wasn't laughing at you, god, I swear it. Please, don't do this.”

He was following, but not touching, not grabbing me or forcing me to listen. There's something wrong with me. Again and again I back myself into a corner with just a word, no way out except to lash out at anyone and everyone. Or, do what I did to try to make it work with Sojiro, just bend my head and bottle everything up, blame it all on myself. I wouldn’t do that again. I wouldn’t let myself be trampled on again.

I stopped at the top of the stairs, trying to get myself under control. He stopped behind me, still not touching. The fact that he didn’t try to physically intimidate me went a long way to calming me down. It was one thing to be consensually dominated in the bedroom, but I had hated the way Sojiro tried to control me all the time, the grabbing, shoving, eventually escalating until I’d had to fight back. But Ichigo didn’t even reach toward me.

“Toshiro . . . it's stupid. I just, I don't know, I feel so dumb for believing you were, you know, an escort. I mean, you're amazing, you're smart and witty, it never seemed right but what do I know about escorts, right? Maybe they’re all smoking-hot, clever, and great therapists. And god, I know I was practically a virgin, but sex can't possibly be that good. Everyone would just be fucking all day. Not just the sex, you were so honest, so natural about everything. I don't know, I guess I just felt like there was no way I'd stand a chance with you, escort or not.

“And then I found out you weren't, of course you weren't. Still, you're so out of my fucking league. So, when you said you'd only been with one guy, I was just so relieved . . . not that I was judging you by how many men or women you've been with, that doesn't matter. But I met the guy, just for a minute, when I was stalking you and I went to your old house. He was such a pissy little bitch, and it made me feel like, well, if that's the competition maybe I have a chance. I know I can be better than that, the asshole ratted you out, gave me this address. Who does that? I'm sure there's something you saw in him, but that was a dick move anyway.

“You deserve better. I can be that. Yeah, maybe we go on a few dates and decide it's not gonna work, though I'm betting everything that it will. And if it does, then I'll never turn my back on you like that. I just want a chance, baby, just a chance to love you the way you should . . .”

“Ichigo.”

God, he was an idiot. A sweet, noble, bumbling idiot. Could I believe that he was telling the truth? Maybe it was easier to believe that he was a terrible liar. That meant I was the one in the wrong, jumping down his throat for nothing. And I would do it again, and again, convinced that every time I let myself be vulnerable, he would take advantage of it to injure and chain me.

I was no good for him, but maybe I could be better. He made me want to try, even if I didn't deserve him.

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

I turned and grabbed his ridiculously handsome face between my hands, bending down to slam my lips into his. There was no point in fighting it, no point in self-recrimination when I would ignore my own warnings to reach out and selfishly take what I wanted. And what I wanted was a naïve boy who still thought love and devotion were more than just fleeting dreams. What I wanted was a strong man who stood by those he held dear, who could maybe, someday, if I was very lucky, hold me dear and protect the heart I would give him.

Such a thing was possible, even for me. Ichigo had shown me that. And as he pushed me back, stepping up the final stair without breaking the sensual dance of our lips, I formed a resolve. I would conquer the fear I had of ruining him, and I would face the horrifying possibility of once more giving myself to someone and being betrayed.

Simply making the decision to allow myself to have what I wanted, allow myself to risk hurting him and myself for the chance of happiness, it changed everything. Suddenly, it felt like it did the first time we kissed, when all my fears were numbed by alcohol and heartache. All my hesitation vanished, and my faint chuckle broke our kiss for just a moment. My hands still framed his face, lightening their hold, fingers playing with his hair. He had taken hold of my waist tentatively, and with that bright smile he moved close with arms wrapping around me.

“You forgive me then?”

Cocky. But there was a tightness around his eyes, a genuine fear under the bravado in his tone. Poor thing. I would be a high-maintenance lover for a time, perhaps a very long time, always questioning his motives and assuming the worst. I didn't think I should tell him that if he did stay with me through it and prove himself worthy of devotion, he would never find someone who would worship him wholly the way I would. No, not yet. I wanted to promise him the world, but I needed to know him, have some proof that the risk was worth it.

“Hmm. Forgive you for what? Stalking me and showing up at my home uninvited?” I pushed my hands back into his hair until my fingers laced, cradling, holding him in place so I could suck on his ear. “For not leaving when I demanded it?” I nipped before drawing back to look into his tense eyes. “For not letting me hold on to my anger?”

Those luscious lips opened to reply, pretty hazel eyes flooding with conflicting emotions. Where I reflexively hid as much of my inner thoughts from the world as possible, this angel exposed everything, heart naked to the prying eyes and grasping hands of the cruel world. I did not think I could hear what visceral truths he would give in answer to my jaded questions without bursting into tears, so I pulled us together again and smothered his response until I felt the slight tension seep away.

“I don't think I'll ever forgive you, Ichigo,” I whispered against warm, wet lips, “but I thank you.”

The scoff of derision was a poor fake, countered as it was by the relief and happiness in his eyes. I shared a smile with him, shared the hope and desire of another kiss, drawn together, insatiable. Willingly, I stepped as he guided, letting my back rest against the wall he pressed me to, letting my weight shift down and forward against the leg he pushed between mine. My worries would return, temporarily banished with a muffled moan of pure pleasure as I rubbed myself on his thigh.

“Toshiro . . .”

My lips latched onto his neck since he was going to insist on speaking. His skin was flushed, hot, hotter as I sucked new symbols of my admiration to the surface. The deep rumbling in his throat made my hips jerk, and didn't that just feel delicious, my bathrobe slipped open entirely leaving my most sensitive parts at the mercy of rough denim.

“We should . . . we should stop. Ahhh, damn!”

_Riiiight._ He was the one pulling my ass away from the wall, encouraging the punishing friction against the leg he'd shoved closer and higher. So, how could he object to me pulling his shirt low to molest his chest?

“Reeeallyyyy? Right in the hallway?”

He jumped a little, making me groan with the added pressure as I continued to grind myself against his leg. I laid my cheek on his tense shoulder to look down the stairs and kept him close, one arm slipping down around his waist.

“It's my hallway, Rangiku.”

“Oh, real nice! Can't count on anyone who says they'll give you a multi-million-dollar house anymore, they just take it back whenever it's convenient. I suppose you don't want coffee, either,” she managed to sound offended as she stomped back down the stairs, but I could hear the glee behind it. “Don't bother with an excuse. I know when I'm not wanted. Some people just don't appreciate hospitality.”

The rant grew more distant, and I turned my attention back to the stiff form I was still thoroughly enjoying. It was as if I was drunk again, or perhaps he just brought out the sexual drive I had repressed through ignorance and then through poor selection of partners. Whatever the cause, I had no wish to suppress the desire for contact and satisfaction. But the blushing boy evaded my attempt to recapture his lips, hands pushing at my hips and knee dropping.

“Toshiro, what about getting to know each other?”

I scowled in annoyance and noted his jaw tightening in response. Stubborn. Arrogant. High-handed know it all. So was he, and I knew how to deal with it.

“You're right, precious.” I grabbed his hand as I straightened myself, then tugged him along to follow me. “This is a good place to start.”

It was a way to get to know me, after all, I hadn't lied. My books, faded photos of my family hung alongside certificates and medals, the wide desks covered with my work, miniature models of my original purifiers hanging from the high ceiling alongside conceptual prototypes of upgrades, small solar panels lined up along the windowsill to test variations . . . one could look around this room and learn quite a lot about what I valued.

Dropping his hand, I moved quietly away, to the edge of the perfectly made bed, oddly placed in the center of the room to free as much valuable space along walls and windows as possible. I watched him drift, wide-eyed, and waited for him to notice that the robe was discarded at my bare feet.

Fortunately, it didn't take long, for I had begun to feel nervous about what he would see in the old memorabilia and the current obsession with cold science. This was me. Product of my parents dreams and quite obsessed with my work. I was lauded as a humanitarian thanks to what my work accomplished, but helping people was secondary to solving the problem in my mind. My curiosity was about things as far from human as possible.

And yet, I was intensely interested in the gorgeous young man that turned toward me. I watched the distracted wonder in his face change to surprise, brown eyes nearly gold in the bright morning light streaming through the high windows, their regard like a warm touch as they explored my naked body. Curious, how my brain responded to the obvious shift in him, arousal returning, the opposite of fear as he moved with steps toward me almost threatening, adrenaline rising and muscles tensing as I wavered between leaping away from danger or leaping forward and instead standing still.

“Toshiro . . .”

If he told me I didn't have to do this, if he said he wanted to wait until we got to know each other like we hadn't already fucked like animals, if he fucking backed out now . . .

Two long strides and I had his face trapped in my hands again, moving to stop any foolishness with my tongue, only to find my momentum used against me, my feet quite literally swept out from underneath me. It was a dizzying rush of movement, my weight hoisted into his arms as I yelped, then started to laugh, then yelped again as I was tossed onto my bed with his weight following in a clumsy and wonderful mess of limbs.

This was foolishly romantic, the kind of thing that just does not happen outside of Ran's awful movie collection. But when he pushed me into the softness, when his lips pulled mine open, when his hot tongue came home to me where it belonged, I thought perhaps I had underestimated Hollywood entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT CHAPTER - Fluffy Epilogue


End file.
